HARRIET  •  T  •  COMSTOCK 


Joyce  of  the  North  Woods 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


'YOUVE  GOT  THE  WINNING  CARDS,  MY  GIRL    . 
IN  THE  PLAYING  NOW" 


IT  S   ALL 


JOYCE  OF  THE 
NORTH  WOODS 


BY 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK 

AUTHOR  OF 

JANET  OF  THB  DUNKS.  TOWER  AND  THRONE. 
THE  QUEEN'S  HOSTAGE.  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 
JOHN  GASSEL 


4. 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS          :       :          NEW  YORK 


All  EIGHTS  RZSEKVED,  TMCLDDING  THAT  OT  TRANSIATIOH 
WTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIA!* 


COPYRIGHT,  igil,  BY  DOC2LEDAY.  PAGE  &  COIIFANT 


TO 

EVELINA  HEMINWAY  SMITH 
"  SISTER — FRIEND  " 

Accept  the  dedication  of  this  book  of  mine 
as  a  very  slight  recognition  of  your  encouragement 
in  my  work ;  your  faith  in  me. 

To  you  I  first  read  the  story;  from  you  I 
received  my  first  approval;  I  believe  its  chances 
will  be  brighter  in  the  book-world  if  your  name 
and  good-will  go  with  it. 

HARRIET  T.  COMSTOCK 

FLATBUSH — BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 
February,  1910 


2128911 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

"Love  is  the  golden  bead  in  the  bottom  of  the 
crucible/'  And  the  crucible  was  St.  Ange. 

Fifty  years  before  this  story  began,  St.  Ange  was 
a  lumber  camp;  the  first  gash  in  that  part  of  the 
great  Solitude  to  the  north,  which  lay  across  Beacon 
Hill,  three  miles  from  Hillcrest. 

When  the  splendid  lumber  had  been  felled  within 
a  prescribed  limit,  Industry  took  another  leap,  left 
St.  Ange  scarred  and  blighted,  with  a  fringe  of 
forest  north  and  south,  and  struck  camps  farther 
back  and  nearer  Canada. 

Then  Nature  began  to  heal  the  stricken  heart 
of  the  Solitude.  A  second  growth  of  lovely 
tree  and  bush  sprang  to  the  call,  and  the  only 
reminders  of  the  camp  were  the  absences  of 
the  men  during  the  logging  season,  and  the  roar- 
ing and  rushing  of  the  river  through  Long 
Meadow  every  spring,  with  its  burden  of  logs 
from  the  distant  camps. 

In  the  beginning  St.  Ange  had  had  her  aspirations. 
A  futile  highway  had  been  constructed,  for  no  other 
purpose  apparently,  than  to  connect  the  north  and 


vt  PREFATORY  NOTE 

south  forests.  A  little  church  had  been  built  — 
there  had  never  been  any  regular  service  held  in  it 
—  and  a  small  school-house  which  promptly  degener- 
ated into  the  Black  Cat  Tavern,  General  Store,  and 
Post  Office.  A  few  modest  houses  met  the  highway 
face  to  face;  a  few  more  turned  their  backs  upon 
it  and  were  content  with  an  outlook  across  Long 
Meadow  and  toward  Beacon  Hill,  beyond  which 
lay  the  village  of  Hillcrest  which  grew  in  importance 
as  St.  Ange  degenerated.  There  were  scattered 
houses  among  the  clumps  of  maple  and  pine  growths, 
and  there  was  a  forlorn  railroad  station  before 
which  a  rickety,  single  track  branch  ended.  Some- 
time during  the  day  a  train  came  in,  and  after  an 
uncertain  period  it  departed;  it  was  the  only  link 
with  the  outer  world  that  St.  Ange  had  except  what 
came  by  way  of  Hillcrest. 

Toward  Hillcrest,  as  the  years  went  on,  there 
grew  in  St.  Ange  a  feeling  of  envy  and  distrust. 
Its  prosperity  and  decency  were  a  reflection,  its 
very  emphatic  regard  for  law  and  order  a  menace 
and  burden.  St.  Angdans  sent  their  aspiring 
youths  to  the  Hillcrest  school  —  it  was  never 
an  alarming  constituency  —  it  was  cheaper  to 
do  that  than  to  support  a  school  of  their  own. 
There  were  emergencies  when  the  Hillcrest  doc- 
tor and  minister  were  in  demand,  so  it  behooved 
St.  Ange  to  keep  up  a  partial  show  of  friendli- 
ness, but  bitterly  did  it  resent  the  interference  of 


PREFATORY   NOTE  vii 

Hillcrest  justice  during  that  season  immediately 
following  the  enforced  sobriety  and  isolation  of 
the  lumber  camp. 

Were  men  not  to  have  some  compensation  for 
the  hardships  of  the  backwoods  ? 

And  just  at  that  point  in  the  argument  Beacon 
Hill  received  its  name  and  significance.  From  its 
top  a  watcher  could  view  the  road  leading  to  Hill- 
crest,  and  by  a  well-directed  signal  give  warning  to 
any  chance  wrongdoer  on  the  St.  Ange  side.  Many 
a  culprit  had  thus  been  aided  in  his  plans  of  escape 
before  Justice,  striding  over  the  western  hill,  bore 
down  upon  the  town. 

Beautiful,  unappreciated  St.  Ange!  The  trees 
grew,  and  the  scar  was  healed.  The  soft,  pine-laden 
breezes  touched  with  heavenly  fragrance  the  dull- 
faced  women,  the  pathetic  children,  and  the  unam- 
bitious men.  Everything  was  run  down  and  appar- 
ently doomed,  until  one  day  the  endless  chain  which 
encompasses  the  world,  in  its  turning  dropped  the 
Golden  Bead  of  Love  into  St.  Ange!  Down  deep 
it  sank  to  the  bottom  of  the  crucible.  Jude  Lauzoon 
was  blinded  by  it  and  stung  to  life;  Joyce  Birkdale 
through  its  power  came  into  the  heritage  of  her  soul. 
Jock  Filmer  by  its  magic  force  was  shorn  of  his  poor 
shield  and  left  naked  and  unprotected  for  Fate's 
cruelest  darts.  John  Gaston,  working  out  his 
salvation  in  his  shack  hidden  among  the  pines,  was 
burnt  by  the  divining  rays  that  penetrated  to  his 


viii  PREFATORY  NOTE 

secret  place  and  spared  him  not.  And  then,  when 
things  were  at  their  tensest,  Ralph  Drew  came  and 
tuned  the  discordant  notes  into  sweet  harmony. 
St.  Ange  became  in  time  a  home  for  many  whom 
despair  had  marked  for  its  own;  a  Sanctuary  for 
devoted  service. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"YouVe  got  the  winning  cards,  my  girl.  .  .It's 
all  in  the  playing  now  "      ....    Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

"Once  I  went  so  far  as  to  go  up  there  with  my 
gun" 76 

That  pictured  Mother  and  Child  were  mould- 
ing Joyce's  character 114 

Presently  he  opened  his  eyes  .   .  .  and  there 
sat  the  girl  of  his  dreams  near  him  .    .     .  .  _  188 


Joyce  of  the  North  Woods 

CHAPTER    I 

THE  man  lying  flat  on  the  rock  which  crusted 
Beacon  Hill  raised  his  head  with  a  snake- 
like  motion,  and  then  let  it  fall  back  again 
upon  his  folded  arms.     His  body  had  not  moved; 
it  seemed  part  of  the  stone  and  moss. 

The  midsummer  afternoon  was  sunny  and  hot, 
and  the  fussy  little  river  rambling  through  the  Long 
Meadow  was  talking  in  its  sleep. 

Lazily  it  wound  around  young  maples,  and  ferny 
groups  —  it  would  crush  them  by  and  by,  poor 
trusting  things  —  then  it  would  stumble  against  a 
rock  or  pile  of  loose  stones,  wake  up  and  repeat 
the  strain  it  had  learned  at  its  mother's  breast,  far 
up  in  the  North  Woods. 

"I'm  here!  here!  here!  I'll  be  ready  by  and  by, 
by,  by,  by."  Then  on  again,  a  little  faster  perhaps, 
but  still  dreamily.  Children's  laughter  sounded 
far  below;  a  slouching  man  or  woman  making 
for  the  Black  Cat  bent  on  business  or  pleasure, 
passed  now  and  then;  all  else  was  still  and  seem- 
ingly asleep. 

3 


4  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Again  Jude  raised  his  head  and  gave  that  quick 
glance  around. 

Jude  was  awake  at  last.  Little  Billy  Falstar  had 
roused  him  two  days  before  and  set  the  world  in  a 
jangle.  The  child's  impish  words  had  struck  the 
scales  from  Jude's  eyes,  and  the  blinding  light  made 
him  shrink  and  suffer. 

"Him  and  her,"  the  boy  had  whispered,  hugging 
his  bruised  and  dirty  knees  as  he  squatted  by  Jude's 
door;  "him  and  her  is  sparking  some."  Then  he 
laughed  the  freakish  laugh  of  mischief. 

Jude  was  polishing  the  gun  which  John  Gaston 
had  given  him  a  year  before,  and  had  trained  him 
to  use  until  he  was  second  only  to  Gaston  him- 
self for  marksmanship.  "Him  and  her  —  who?" 
he  asked,  raising  his  dull  eyes  to  Billy's  tormenting 
face. 

"Joyce  and  Mr.  Gaston.  Him  and  her  is  beaux, 
I  reckon.  She  goes  to  his  shack;  I  listened  outside 
the  winder  once  —  he  reads  to  her  and  tells  her 
things.  They  walks  in  the  Long  Medder,  too,  and 
once  I  saw  him  kiss  her." 

Again  the  teasing  laugh  that  set  every  nerve  ting- 
ling. 

Then  it  was  that  Jude  awoke,  and  his  hot  French 
blood,  mingled  with  his  canny  Scotch  inheritance, 
rose  in  his  veins  and  struck  madly  against  brain  and 
heart. 

He  stared  at  Billy  as  if  the  boy  had  given  him  a 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS  5 

physical  blow  —  then  he  looked  beyond  him  at  tK. 
woods,  the  sky,  the  highway  and  the  dejected 
houses  —  nothing  was  familiar!  They  all  seemed 
alive  and  alert.  Unseen  happenings  were  going 
on  —  he  must  understand. 

"You  saw  —  him  —  kiss  —  her?"  The  gun  fell 
limply  across  the  man's  knees. 

"Yep,"  Billy  whipped  his  dramatic  sense  into 
action.  He  arose  and  strode  before  Jude  with 
Gaston's  own  manner.  "This  way.  His  arms 
out,  and  him  a-laughing  like,  and  Joyce  she  kinder 
run  inter  his  arms  and  he  held  her,  like  this  —  ." 
The  close  embrace  of  the  childish  gesture  seemed  to 
strangle  Jude,  and  he  gave  a  muffled  cry.  This 
acted  like  a  round  of  applause  upon  Billy. 

"Yep,  and  he  kept  on  hugging  and  kissing  her 
like  this  — "  Billy  went  into  an  ecstasy  of  portrayal. 
Suddenly,  however,  he  reeled  into  sanity,  for  Jude 
had  struck  him  across  the  cheek  with  the  back  of 
a  hand  trembling  with  new-born  emotion. 

"Take  that, you  impish  brat,"  he  had  said,  "and 
more  like  it  if  you  stand  there  another  minute  with 
your  lying  capers." 

"They  ain't  lies,"  wailed  Billy,  edging  away  and 
nursing  his  smarting  face;  "he  did!  he  did!  It 
was  in  his  shack  —  I  saw  'em !" 

"Get  out,"  yelled  Jude,  glowering  darkly;  "and 
you  tell  that  to  any  one  else  and,"  he  came  nearer 
to  the  shrinking  child,  "I  swear  I'll  choke  yer  till 


6  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

yer  can't  speak."  So  changed  was  Jude  that  Billy 
trembled  before  him. 

"I  won't,"  he  whispered,  "I  swear  I  won't,  Jude; 
don't  —  don't  hit  me  again;  I  won't  tell." 

He  was  gone,  but  the  old  Jude  was  gone  also. 
The  new  man  finished  the  gun  cleaning,  his  breath 
coming  hard  and  fast  meanwhile,  and  then,  taking 
the  gun  with  him,  he  went  into  the  deep  woods  on 
the  northern  edge  of  the  village. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  he  watched  Gaston's  shack 
from  a  distance;  as  the  darkness  drew  on  he  crept 
closer. 

Joyce  did  not  come  near  the  place,  and  Gaston 
himself  only  returned  when  the  night  was  well 
advanced. 

Jude  watched  him  light  his  lamp,  and  prepare 
his  supper.  Watched  him,  later,  go  into  the  inner 
room,  and  then  he  crept  close  to  the  broad  window 
to  see  what  Gaston  was  doing  in  there  where  no  foot 
but  Gaston's  own,  so  it  was  said,  ever  entered.  As 
he  had  raised  his  eyes  to  the  level  of  the  casement, 
Gaston's  calm  gaze  met  his  with  a  laugh  in  it. 

"Hello,  Jude,"  the  voice  was  unshaken;  "playing 
Indian  Brave  ?  Got  your  gun,  too  ?  What  you 
after,  big  game  or  — what?"  Jude  rose  to  his  feet. 
He  was  trembling  violently.  Gaston  watched  him 
closely.  "Come  in  ?"  he  asked  presently. 

"No.  I  was  only  passing  —  thought  I  would 
look  in.  I'm  going  now." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS  7 

"Hold  OR  there,  Jude,  what's  up?"  Gaston 
leaned  from  the  window.  "Are  you  alone  ?" 

"Yes.     There  ain't  anything  the  matter." 

"All  right."  Gaston  looked  puzzled.  "Good 
night."  He  watched  Jude  until  he  was  lost  in  the 
shadows,  then  he  drew  the  heavy  wooden  shutters 
close,  bolted  the  door  and  placed  his  pistol  near  at 
hand. 

All  the  next  day  Jude  haunted  the  vicinity  of 
Joyce  Birkdale's  home,  but  he  kept  hidden,  for  Joyce 
was  safe  within  doors  and  a  drizzly  rain  was  falling. 
Night  again  found  him  on  guard ;  and  now  he  lay 
on  Beacon  Hill  in  the  hot  sun,  napping  by  snatches 
(for  he  was  woefully  tired)  and  scanning  the  Long 
Meadow,  with  his  feverish  eyes,  in  between  times. 

In  his  dreams  the  scene  Billy  Falstar  had  so 
luridly  described  was  enacted  again  and  again, 
until  he  felt  as  if  he,  Jude,  had  been  the  onlooker. 

The  people  whom  he  had  taken  for  granted  in 
the  past  now  assumed  new  meaning  and  importance. 
Gaston  had  slipped  in  among  them  three  years 
before,  and  after  the  first  few  months  of  observation 
he  had  aroused  no  interest.  He  had  minded  his 
business,  paid  his  way,  taken  his  turn  in  camp  at 
greenhorn  jobs,  accounted  for  his  presence  on  tke 
ground  of  seeking  health,  and  that  was  all.  Life 
went  on  as  usual,  sluggishly  and  dully  —  but  on. 

Jude  had,  before  Billy's  illumination,  been  think- 
ing that  after  the  next  logging  season  he  would 


8  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

annex  Joyce  Birkdale  to  his  few  belongings  —  the 
cabin,  his  dog  and  gun.  The  idea  had  not  roused 
him  much,  but  it  had  been  a  pleasurable  conclusion 
to  arrive  at;  and  now  ?  Every  nerve  was  aching  and 
the  boy's  heart  was  thumping  heavily.  Again  he 
dropped  his  head,  and  he  cursed  everything  his 
thought  touched  upon  —  even  the  girl  he  meant, 
in  some  way,  still  to  have. 

One,  two,  three  hours  passed.  Jude's  hilltop 
was  touched  by  the  sun,  but  in  the  meadow  the 
purpling  shadows  were  gathering  slowly. 

Suddenly  Jude  sprang  up  —  something  was  hap- 
pening down  there  below.  Something  in  him  had 
warned  him. 

From  the  southern  edge  of  the  meadow  a  tall 
man  was  swinging  along  with  easy  strides.  He 
carried  his  broad-brimmed  hat  in  his  right  hand 
and  waved  it  as  if  in  greeting.  From  the  opposite 
direction  a  girl  was  approaching.  She  wore  a  blue- 
checked  gown,  and  her  pale  hair  seemed  to  shine 
in  the  dimming  light.  She  wore  no  hat,  and  she 
walked  with  the  quick  freedom  of  a  child  who  longed 
to  reach  something  precious. 

Midway  of  the  meadow  the  girl  and  man  met.  He 
stretched  out  his  arms,  and  they  closed  about  the 
slim  form. 

Then  he  bent  his  head  over  the  fair  one  on  his 
breast  —  but  he  did  not  kiss  it!  Jude  was  burning 
and  palpitating.  He  strained  his  hearing,  forgetting 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS  9 

time  and  space.  They  were  talking,  and  he  would 
never  know  what  they  said. 

Presently  the  girl  slipped  from  the  enfolding 
arms,  and,  clinging  to  the  man's  hands,  looked  up 
into  his  face.  Sometimes  she  bowed  her  head,  and 
once  she  passed  her  hand  across  her  eyes  as  if  to 
wipe  away  tears.  Then  the  man  drew  her  close 
again.  He  raised  the  face  that  was  crushed  against 
his  shoulder;  he  kissed  the  brow,  the  eyes,  the  chin  — 
and  then  the  lips. 

Something  blinded  Jude.  Something  thick  and 
hot  like  blood,  and  when  he  could  see  again,  the 
two  had  parted.  The  man  stood  with  bared  head 
watching  the  slim,  drooping  figure  as  it  retraced 
its  steps  with  never  a  backward  turn.  When  it 
was  gone  he  replaced  his  hat  and  took  his  way  — 
this  time,  toward  the  Black  Cat. 

Jude  stood  alone  on  his  hilltop  and  watched  the 
lights  spring  to  life  in  cottage  and  tavern.  The  stars 
twinkled  above  him  in  the  calm  evening  gloaming. 
The  little  river  trilled  a  vesper  hymn  as  it  felt  its 
way  along  the  dark  rocky  path  —  and  then  tears 
came  to  Jude's  relief,  impotent,  boyish,  weak  tears, 
such  tears  as  he  had  not  shed  since  his  father  and 
mother  lay  dead,  and  in  childish  fright  and  sorrow 
he  had  not  known  what  to  do  next.  But  now,  as 
then,  he  pulled  himself  together  and  set  his  teeth 
grimly. 

He  did  the  wisest  thing  he  could  have  done.     He 


io  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

went  down  the  hill  and  strode  toward  the  Birkdalc 
house. 

But  he  did  not  walk  alone.  Almost  forgotten 
memories  rose  sharply  and  kept  him  company  as 
he  pushed  on  to  meet  his  Fate. 

Womankind  in  St.  Ange  was  monotonous.  There 
was  a  shading  of  individuality  in  the  girls  and  newly- 
wed  women,  but  it  faded  soon  into  the  dull  drab 
that  seemed  the  only  possible  wearing-colour  of  the 
place.  Occasionally,  though,  the  sameness  had 
been  relieved  by  a  vivid  touch,  but  only  for  a  short 
hour.  The  Fate  who  snips  the  threads,  had  invari- 
ably clipped  such  colouring  from  the  St.  Ange 
design,  and  tossed  it  aside  as  useless. 

Jude  remembered  Marsena  Riddall.  What  a 
woman  she  had  been!  What  a  menace  to  man's 
rights  and  woman's  position. 

She  had  demanded,  and  got  her  husband's  wages 
as  he  returned  from  camp.  She  met  him  at  the 
edge  of  the  North  Wood,  and  held  him  up,  morally 
and  physically.  That  she  kept  a  clean  and  respec- 
table house;  that  her  children  were  well  fed,  clothed 
and  cared  for,  had  not  counted  to  her  credit  one 
jot  among  the  powers  that  be.  Her  husband  was 
not  safe  on  the  man's  side  of  the  Black  Cat  screen. 
At  ten  o'clock,  did  Riddall  brave  his  chances  to  that 
hour,  Marsena  would  march  boldly  into  the  arena 
and  claim  her  quarry.  If  a  man  rose  to  expostulate, 
Marsena  was  equal  to  him  with  tongue  and  wit. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          11 

Masculine  superiority  trembled  during  Marsena's 
reign,  which  lasted  five  years;  then  Fate  downed 
her. 

Riddall  was  called  away  from  his  jailer  by  the 
command  that  even  Marsena  could  not  defy,  and 
she  and  her  children  faced  life  in  a  village  where  a 
man  was  an  absolute  necessity  unless  there  was 
money  to  take  his  place.  Jude  grimly  smiled  as 
he  recalled  how  the  men  and  boys  gave  Marsena 
and  her  brood  a  jeering  send-off  as  the  rattling  train 
bore  them  away  soon  after  Riddall  had  been  laid 
behind  the  disused  church. 

So  while  Marsena  was  still  in  Jude's  memory,  he 
came  upon  the  deserted  and  decaying  cottage  where 
once  Lola  Laval  had  sung  her  pretty  French-Cana- 
dian song. 

It  was  odd  how  Lola  came  always  with  that  song 
accompaniment.  Try  as  he  might,  even  now,  in 
this  disordered  moment,  Jude  heard  the  rippling 
little  lark  song  rise  and  fall  in  the  fragrant  darkness. 

Jude,  while  but  a  boy,  liked  to  draw  water 
for  Lola  and  run  her  errands  when  young  Pierre, 
the  husband,  was  in  camp.  When  the  logging 
season  was  over,  Lola's  cottage  vied  with  the  Black 
Cat  in  popularity.  Pierre  was  a  noted  card  player, 
but,  oh!  Lola's  song  sounded  above  the  slap  of 
pasteboard  and  the  click  of  glasses.  How  pretty 
she  was  —  and  how  the  women  hated  her!  The 
men  were  eager  to  serve  her.  She  had  no  need  to 


12  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

command;  her  desires  seemed  granted   before  she 
voiced  them  —  poor,  pretty  Lola ! 

Alouette,  alouette,  alouette,  alouette. 

Oh,  alouette,  chantez  alouette, 

Alouette,  je  te  plumerai.  , 

Alouette,   chantez  alouette, 

Alouette,  je  te  plumerai. 

Je  te  plumerai  le  bee, 

Je  te  plumerai  le  bee 

A  le  bee, 

A  le  bee, 

Alouette, 

Alouette. 

Lola  had  not  lasted  long;  only  nineteen  she  was 
when  Pierre  in  his  jealousy  struck  the  light  from  her 
eyes  by  a  cruel  blow,  and  the  song  fled  from  her 
lips;  then  taking  warning  from  a  well-directed 
signal  from  Beacon  Hill,  he  had  sought  the  Southern 
Solitude  just  before  Justice,  in  the  form  of  the  Hill- 
crest  constable,  came  stalking  into  St.  Ange. 

But  the  song  was  not  dead,  Again  and  again  a 
man  or  woman  would  revive  it  and  so  it  had  become 
a  part  of  the  place.  To  Jude,  now,  it  was  painfully 
evident  as  he  again  plunged  forward;  it  followed 
him  sweetly,  mockingly  as  it  used  to  when  Lola  sent 
it  after  him  to  keep  him  from  being  afraid  as  he  left 
her  for  his  lonely  home;  he,  a  neglected  little  boy. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          13 

And  now  here  was  Joyce!  With  a  stinging  con- 
sciousness Jude  realized  this  new  personality  that 
heretofore  he  had  not  suspected.  Even  as  jealous 
anger  spurred  him  on,  a  vague  something  he  knew 
awaited  him,  calmed  him  and  made  him  cautious. 

While  he  longed  to  grip  and  command  the  situa- 
tion, he  was  aware  of  a  power  in  Joyce  —  a  power 
he  had  unconsciously,  perhaps,  sensed  before  —  that 
bade  him  stand  afar  until  she  beckoned  him. 

As  he  neared  her  little  house,  before  even  he  saw 
the  lights,  he  heard  a  song.  It  was  that  song!  It 
met  the  rhythm  in  his  own  heated  fancy  —  he  and 
Joyce  seemed  to  be  singing  it  together: 

Alouette, 
Alouette. 

The  light  was  streaming  through  open  window 
and  door.  Inside  Joyce  was  preparing  the  evening 
meal,  stepping  lightly  between  table  and  stove  as 
she  sang.  Jude  dared  not  enter  unannounced, 
and  his  pride  held  him  silent. 

What  was  he  afraid  of?  Was  he  not  he,  and 
Joyce  but  a  girl  ?  Still  he  kept  his  distance. 

"Joyce!"  The  song  within  ceased,  and  the  singer 
stepped  to  the  open  doorway. 

"That  you,  father?"  No  answer  came. 
"Father?" 

Then  Jude  camt  into  the  light. 


14  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"You,  Jude  ?  Come  in;  father's  late.  I  nevei 
wait  for  him  and  I  am  as  hungry  as  a  wolf." 

Joyce  had  been  one  of  the  few  girls  who  had  gone 
to  the  Hillcrest  school  as  long  as  paternal  authority 
permitted,  and  she  showed  her  training. 

"I  ain't  come  for  no  friendly  call,"  muttered 
Jude,  slouching  in  and  dropping  on  to  a  wooden 
chair  beside  the  table. 

Joyce  turned  and  looked  at  him,  and  the  glow 
from  the  hanging  lamp  fell  upon  her. 

She  was  tall  and  slim,  almost  to  leanness,  but 
there  were  no  awkward  angles  and  she  was  as 
graceful  as  a  fawn. 

Her  skin  was  pale,  clear  and  smooth,  her  eyes 
wide  apart  and  so  dark  as  to  be  colourless,  but  of  a 
wondrous  softness.  Her  hair  was  of  that  shade  of 
gold  that  suggests  silver,  and  in  its  curves,  where 
the  sun  had  not  bleached  it,  it  was  full  of  tints  and 
tones. 

"What  have  you  come  for?"  she  asked,  as  a 
child  might  have  asked  it,  wonderingly  and  inter- 
estedly. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something,  and  I  want  the 
truth." 

"Oh!"  Joyce  sat  opposite,  and  let  her  clasped 
hands  fall  upon  the  table  laid  out  for  the  evening 
meal  with  the  brown  bowl  of  early  asters  set  in  the 
centre.  She  forgot  her  hunger,  and  the  steaming 
pot  on  the  stove  bubbled  unheeded. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          15 

"What  you  want  to  know,  Jude  ?  You  look 
mighty  upset." 

Jude  saw  with  his  new,  keen  vision  that  she  was 
startled  and  was  sparring  for  time.  "It's  about," 
he  leaned  forward,  "it's  about  you  and  —  and  him. 
I  saw  you  in  the  Long  Medder.  I  saw  him  hold 
your  hands  and  —  and  kiss  you."  The  words 
smarted  the  dry,  hot  lips.  "I  —  I  want  to  know 
what  it  means." 

Jude  was  trembling  visibly  as  he  finished,  but 
Joyce's  silence,  her  apparent  discomfort,  gave  him 
a  kind  of  assurance  that  upheld  him  in  his  position. 

The  girl  across  the  table  had  been  awakened 
several  weeks  ago  in  Gaston's  little  shack  among  the 
pines.  Since  then  she  had  been  living  vividly  and 
fervently.  The  question  with  her,  now,  was  how 
best  to  voice  herself —  the  self  that  Jude  in  no  wise 
knew.  Womanlike,  she  did  not  want  to  plunge 
into  what  might  prove  an  abyss.  She  wanted  to 
take  her  own  way,  but  with  a  half-unconscious 
coquetry  she  desired  to  drag  her  captives  whither 
she  went. 

In  the  old  stupid  life  before  her  womanhood  was 
roused,  Jude  had  held  no  mean  part  in  her  girlish 
dreams.  He  was  the  best  of  the  St.  Ange  boyhood 
and  Joyce  had  an  instinctive  relish  for  the  best 
wherever  she  saw  it.  Whatever  the  future  held 
she  was  not  inclined  to  thrust  Jude  from  it.  In 
success  or  failure  she  would  rather  have  him  with 


16  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

her  than  against  her.  Not  that  she  feared  him  — 
she  had  boundless  belief  in  herself — but,  hearts 
to  the  woman,  scalps  to  the  savage,  are  trophies  not 
to  be  despised. 

"I  —  I  want  to  know  what  it  means."  Again 
Jude  spoke,  and  this  time  a  tone  of  command  rang 
through  the  words. 

The  corners  of  Joyce's  mouth  twitched  —  she 
had  a  wonderfully  expressive  mouth.  Suddenly  she 
raised  her  eyes.  They  did  not  hold  the  expression 
Jude  might  have  expected  from  her  disturbed  silence. 
His  growing  courage  took  a  step  back,  but  his 
passion  rushed  forward  proportionately. 

The  witch-light  danced  in  the  steady  glance  she 
turned  upon  him;  she  threw  her  head  back  and  her 
slim  throat  showed  white  and  smooth  in  the  lamp's 
glow. 

"Suppose  he  did  hold  my  hand  and  —  and  kiss 
me,  Jude  Lauzoon,  you'd  like  to  do  the  same  your- 
self, now  wouldn't  you  ?" 

She  was  ignorantly  testing  her  weak,  woman's 
weapon  on  the  man's  metal. 

Jude  felt  the  mist  rising  in  his  eyes  that  once 
before  that  day  had  hid  this  girl  and  Gaston  frorr? 
his  sight.  Like  a  mad  mockery,  too,  Lola's  lark 
song  sounded  above  the  rush  of  blood  that  made 
him  giddy.  He  got  to  his  feet  and  staggered  around 
the  table.  He  held  to  it,  not  so  much  to  steady 
himself  as  to  guide  him,  but  as  he  neared  the  girl 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         17 

the  blindness  passed,  and  the  tormenting  song 
stopped  —  he  stood  in  an  awful  silence,  and  a  white, 
hot  light. 

"Yes,  by  God,  I  do  want  to,  and  if  yer  that  kind 
I'll  take  —  my  share  and  chance  along  with  the 
rest  of 'em." 

It  was  his  own  voice,  loud  and  brutal,  that  smote 
the  better  part  of  him  that  stood  afar  and  alone;  a 
something  quite  different  from  the  beast  who  spoke, 
and  which  felt  a  mad  interest  in  wonde.ring  how  she 
would  take  the  words. 

"You  go  and  sit  down  over  there!" 

No  clash  of  steel  or  dash  of  icy  water  could  have 
had  the  effect  those  quiet  words  had,  combined 
with  the  immovable  calm  out  of  which  they  came. 

The  instinct  of  frightened  womanhood  was  alive. 
If  she  could  not  down  the  beast  in  the  man  by 
unflinching  show  of  courage  —  she  was  lost. 

They  eyed  each  other  for  an  instant  —  then  Jude 
backed  away  and  dropped  into  the  chair  across 
the  table. 

Still,  like  animal  and  tamer  they  measured  each 
other  from  the  safer  distance.  Presently  the  girl 
spoke,  laying  all  the  blame  upon  him  for  the  fright 
and  suffering. 

"What  right  have  you,  Jude  Lauzoon,  to  come 
here  insulting  me?" 

"What  right  had  you,"  he  blurted  out,  "to  make 
me  think  you  was  that —  that  sort?" 


i8  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"I  didn't  make  you  think  it  v- you  thought  it 
because  you  — wanted  to  think  it  —  it  was  in  you." 

The  beast  was  quelled  now,  and  a  stifled  sob 
rose  to  the  boyish  throat. 

"I  —  I  didn't  want  to  think  it  —  God  knows  I 
didn't,  Joyce,  it  was  that  that  drove  me  mad." 

"Can  a  man  only  think  bad  when  he  sees  what 
he  doesn't  understand  ? " 

Revulsion  of  feeling  was  making  Joyce  desperate. 
While  her  new  power  brought  her  a  delirious  joy, 
it  also,  she  was  beginning  to  understand,  brought 
a  terror  she  had  never  conceived  before.  She  wished 
the  house  were  nearer  the  other  human  habitations. 

"If  you're  that  kind,  Jude,  you  had  better  take 
yourself  to  the  Black  Cat;  you'll  find  plenty  of  your 
liking  down  there." 

Jude  was  visibly  cowering  now. 

"Why  did  he  kiss  you  ?"  he  pleaded. 

"Suppose  I  gave  him  the  right  ?" 

"Then  what  am  I  to  think?  Have  you  given 
him  the  right  ?  Does  he  want  the  right  ?  I  mean 
the  right  first  —  and  last?"  Jude  was  gaining 
ground^  but  neither  he  nor  the  girl  to  whom  he  spoke 
realized  it  yet.  Joyce  drew  back. 

"What  is  that  to  you?"  she  murmured  hanging 
her  head.  For  the  moment  she*was  safe  —  but  she 
felt  cornered. 

Jude  again  bent  toward  her  over  his  hands 
clenched  close. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          19 

"It  means  everything,"  he  panted,  "and  you  know 
it.  I've  always  liked  you  best  of  anything  on  earth  — 
ever  since  I  went  to  school,  to  please  you,  over  to 
Hillcrest;  ever  since  I  tried  to  keep  from  the  Black 
Cat,  because  you  asked  me  to.  I've  gone  following 
after  you  kinder  heedless-like  till  —  till  he  gave  me 
a  blow  twixt  the  eyes,  with  his  hand-holding  and, 
kissing.  It  drove  me  crazy.  I  never  thought  of 
any  one  else  with  you  —  least  of  all  John  Gaston 
and  you.  He  didn't  seem  your  kind  —  I  don't 
know  why,  but  he  didn't.  Howsomever,  if  it's  all 
right  —  God  knows  I  ain't  in  it  —  that 's  all." 

A  hoot  of  an  owl  outside  made  Joyce  start  nerv- 
ously. She  was  unstrung  and  superstitious  —  the 
fun  of  the  game  died  in  her,  and  she  felt  weak  and 
nauseated.  She  spoke  as  if  she  wanted  to  finish 
the  matter  and  have  done  with  it  forever. 

"Well,  I  didn't  give  him  the  right.  He  didn't  want 
it.  I  guess  it  was  all  foolish  —  everything  is  foolish. 
When  he  found  out  how  I  liked  books,  and  how 
I  wanted  to  know  about  things,  he  just  naturally 
was  kind  and  he  let  me  go  to  his  shack  to  read. 
Sometimes  he  was  there,  sometimes  he  wasn'fc  He 
just  thought  about  me  as  if  I  was  a  little  girl  — 
Maggie  Falstar  used  to  go  sometimes  —  he  told 
her  fairy  stories  —  it  was  all  the  same  to  him, 
until  — "  the  wonderful  colour  that  very  pale  people 
often  have  rose  suddenly  to  Joyce's  face,  and  the 
eyes  became  dreamy  —  "  one  day  a  week  ago." 


so         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Well,"  Jude  urged  her  on — he  was  sensing 
the  situation  from  the  man's  standpoint. 

"It  was  nothing.  I  had  been  reading  a  book 
there  by  myself.  It  was  the  kind  of  story  that 
makes  you  feel  like  you  was  the  woman  it  tells  about. 
Then  Mr.  Gaston  came  in,  and  stood  looking  at 
me  from  the  doorway;  he  seemed  like  the  man  in 
the  book  too.  We  looked  at  each  other,  and  - 
and  I  was  frightened  and  I  guess  he  was  —  for  I 
was  grown  up  all  of  a  sudden.  Jude"  -  the  girl 
was  appealing  to  the  familiar  in  him,  the  com- 
radeship that  would  stand  with  her  and  for  her  — 
"he  took  me  in  his  arms  and  —  and  —  kissed  me. 
Then  he  begged  my  pardon  —  and  he  pushed  me 
away;  then  he  led  me  to  the  door  and  said  he  —  he 
didn't  understand,  but  I  —  I  mustn't  come  again 
to  the  shack  alone,  but  to  meet  him  in  the  Long 
Meadow  to-day." 

"Curse  'im,"  muttered  Jude;  "curse  'im." 
But  the  move  was  a  wrrng  one.  Joyce  rose  to  her 
own  defence  and  Gaston's. 

"If  you  feel  that  way,"  she  cried,  "you  can  take 
yourself  off." 

"I — I  don't  feel  that  way,"  Jude  returned  illogic- 
ally  and  meekly;  "go  on." 

"He's  a  good  man,  Jude  Lauzoon;    better  than 
any  one  here  in  St  Ange;    and  he  isn't  our  kind  - 
not  mine,  yours,  or  any  one  else's  around  here.     He 
just  made  me  feel  ashamed  of  myself  out  in  the 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         21 

Meadow  to-day.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  bold  and  — 
and  all  wrong,  but  he  wouldn't  let  me  feel  that  way. 
He  acted  like  I  was  a  little  girl  to  him  again  —  only 
different;  and  —  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something." 
The  pink  flush  dyed  even  the  white  throat  now. 
"  He  said  he  wished  I  would  get  married  —  it  was  for 
the  best.  That's  the  way  he  wanted  me  for  himself! " 
Joyce  laughed  with  a  bitterness  that  changed  sud- 
denly as  she  recalled  the  subtle  power  she  had  felt 
over  Gaston  even  while  he  was  forcing  her  out  of 
his  life. 

"  He  asked  me  about  Jock  Filmer." 

"Jock  Filmer?"     Jude's  jaw  dropped.     Was  all 
St.  Ange  hurtling  around  Joyce  ?     "  Jock  Filmer  - 
why  —  why  -    '  Words  failed  him  and  he  laughed 
noisily. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Joyce  tossed  her  head. 
"  You  seem  to  think  nobody  would  want  me  —  I 
guess  —  they  would — if  I  wanted  them!"  The 
girl  was  worn  out;  racked  by  the  emotions  that  were 
reflected  from  the  new  attitude  of  others  toward 
her. 

And  now  Jude  came  around  the  table  again. 
This  time  he  walked  steadily,  and  he  was  quite 
himself.  The  best  self  he  had  ever  yet  been. 

"  I  want  you  Joyce  —  God  knows  I  do." 

"He  said  you  did." 

"Who?" 

"He  — Mr.  Gaston." 


22          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"  He  —  said  that  ?  Then  why  in  thunder  did — 
he  kiss  you  ?" 

That  rock  Jude   dashed   against  at  every   turn. 

"  He  didn't  until  —  until  I  told  him  —  I  liked  you." 

Poor  Joyce!  She  was  never  to  tell  any  one  that 
that  admission  had  been  wrung  from  her  in  order 
to  make  Gaston  think  he  himself  had  not  been  deeply 
in  her  thoughts.  It  had  been  a  difficult  fencing 
match  that  afternoon. 

"You  told  him  that?"  A  light  came  into  Jude's 
handsome,  heavy  face,  which  quickly  vanished  as 
the  torturing  jealousy,  feeding  upon  a  new  hope, 
rose,  defiantly.  "You  told  him  you  cared  —  and 
then  he  kissed  you,  damn  him!  Maybe  he  thinks 
he'll  get  you  to  take  me,  and  then  he'll  go  on  with 
hand-holding  and  kissing  all  the  safer." 

"Take  that  back,"  cried  Joyce  harshly.  "Take 
that  back,  Jude  Lauzoon."  Yet  as  she  resented 
the  implied  insult,  the  primitive  woman  in  her 
admired  Jude  as  it  had  never  admired  him  before. 

"I  didn't  mean  it  against  you,  Joyce,  I  swear 
it.  Can't  you  see  how  I  love  yer  and  I  don't  want 
yer  hurt  ?  No  one  ain't  going  to  hurt  yer!"  He  had 
clutched  her  to  him  roughly  but  tenderly.  "Maybe 
he  wouldn't  want  ter,  maybe  I  don't  understand  - 
but  he  can't,  anyway!" 

She  was   sobbing  hysterically  against  his  breast. 

"You're  mine,  lass;  you're  just  a  little  one;  you 
don't  know  things.  You're  no  older  than  you  was 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          23 

when  you  toted  over  to  Hillcrest  and  —  and  never 
felt  afraid." 

Jude  tried  to  kiss  the  tear-stained  face,  but  she 
pressed  it  closer  against  him.  He  had  to  be  content 
with  the  satin  softness  of  her  thick  hair. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  from  him.  A  sickish  odour 
was  filling  the  room. 

"Everything's  burned,"  she  gasped;  "every- 
thing!" She  drew  the  pot  from  the  stove  and  rue- 
fully carried  it  outside.  "Nothing  left,  Jude;" 
she  laughed  nervously.  "Nothing  but  crusts  and 
leavings." 

"You  go  to  bed,"  commanded  Jude  authoritatively; 
"that's  what  you  need  more  than  anything!" 

"Yes,  yes,  that's  what  I  need  —  sleep.  I'm 
almost  dead,  Fm  so  tired." 

Jude  looked  at  her  hungrily.  The  sudden  happy 
ending  of  his  torture  gave  him  an  unreal,  unsafe 
feeling. 

He  wanted  to  touch  her  again  in  the  new,  thrilling 
way,  but  she  was  forbidding  even  in  her  sweet 
yielding. 

"You  go  to  bed,"  he  said  vaguely;  "I'll  go  down 
to  the  Black  Cat,  and  see  that  your  father  gets  home 
all  right." 

Joyce  stepped  backward  to  the  chamber  door 
beyond. 

"Thank  you,"  she  murmured;  "I  certainly  aro 
dead  tired." 


CHAPTER  II 

THERE  was  only  a   path  leading  from   the 
highway  to   John  Gaston's   shack.     A  path 
wide  enough  for  a  single  traveller,  and  the 
dark  pointed  pines  guarded  it  on  either  side  until 
within  ten  feet  of  the  house.     The  house  itself  sat 
cosily  in  the  clearing.     It  was  a  log  house  built  by 
amateur  hands,  but  roughly  artistic  without,  and 
mannishly  comfortable  within. 

The  broad  door  opened  into  the  long  living  room, 
•where  a  deep  fireplace  (happily  the  chimney  had 
drawn  well  from  the  first,  or  the  builder  would  have 
been  sore  perplexed)  gave  a  look  of  hospitality  to 
the  otherwise  severe  furnishings.  The  fireplace  and 
mantel-shelf  were  Gaston's  pride  and  delight.  Upon 
them  he  had  worked  his  fanciful  designs,  and  the 
result  was  most  satisfactory.  There  was  a  low, 
broad  couch  near  the  hearth  piled  with  pine  cushions 
covered  with  odds  and  ends  of  material  that  had 
come  into  a  man's  possession  from  limited  sources. 
A  table,  home-made,  and  some  Hillcrest  chairs 
completed  the  furnishings,  except  for  the  china  and 
cooking  utensils  that  ornamented  shelves  and  hooks 
around  the  room. 

An  inner  door  opened  into  Gaston's  bedchamber 

34 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         25 

and  sanctum.  No  one  but  himself  ever  entered 
there. 

There  was  a  broad  desk  below  the  one  wide 
window  of  that  room  and  a  revolving  chair  before 
it.  A  boxed-in  affair,  filled  with  fragrant  pine 
boughs,  answered  for  a  bed.  This  was  covered 
with  white  sheets  and  a  pair  of  fine,  handsome, 
red  blankets.  An  iron-bound  chest  stood  by 
the  bed  with  a  padlock  strong  enough  to  guard 
a  king's  treasure,  and  around  the  walls  of 
the  room  there  were  rows  of  books,  interrupted 
here  and  there  to  admit  a  picture  of  value  and 
beauty  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  other  posses- 
sions. 

Over  the  window  hung  a  large-faced  clock  that 
kept  faultless  rime,  and  announced  the  fact  hourly 
in  a  mellow,  but  convincing,  voice.  Just  below 
the  window  and  over  the  desk,  was  a  pipe-rack 
with  pipes  to  fit  every  mood  and  fancy  of  a  lonely 
man.  There  were  the  short  stumpy  ones,  with  the 
small  bowls  for  the  brief  whiff  when  one  did  not 
choose  to  keep  company  with  himself  for  long,  but 
was  willing  to  be  sociable  for  a  moment.  There 
were  the  comfortable,  self-caring  pipes  that  oblig- 
ingly kept  lighted  between  long  puffs  while  the 
master  was  looking  over  old  papers,  or  considering 
future  plans.  Then  there  were  the  long-stemmed, 
deep-bellied  friends  for  hours  when  Memory  would 
have  her  way  and  wanted  the  misty,  fragrant  setting 


26          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

for  her  pictures  that  so  comforted  or  tormented  the 
man  who  wooed  them. 

By  the  rude  desk  Gaston  was  sitting  on  the  evening 
that  Jude  and  Joyce  were  clinging  to  each  other  in 
the  house  under  the  maples.  His  hands  were  plunged 
deep  in  the  pockets  of  his  corduroy  trousers,  his 
long  legs  extended,  and  his  head  thrown  back;  he 
was  smoking  one  of  his  memory-filled  pipes,  and  his 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  rafters  of  the  room. 

He  was  a  good-looking  fellow  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  thirty-five;  browned  by  an  out-of-door  life, 
but  marked  by  a  delicacy  of  feature  and  expression. 

The  strength  that  was  in  Gaston's  face  might 
puzzle  a  keen  reader  of  character  as  to  whether  it 
were  native,  or  the  result  of  years  of  well-fought 
battles.  Once  the  will  was  off  guard,  a  certain 
softness  of  the  eyes,  and  a  twitching  of  the  mouth 
muscles  came  into  play;  but  the  will  was  rarely 
off  guard  during  Gaston's  waking  hours. 

An  open  book  lay  upon  the  desk,  and  the  student 
lamp  cast  a  full  light  upon  the  words  that  had  caught 
the  reader's  thoughts  after  the  events  of  the  day 
and  their  outcome. 

"In  the  life  of  every  man  there  occurs  at  least 
one  epoch  when  the  spirit  seems  to  abandon  the 
body,  and  elevating  itself  above  mortal  affairs  just 
so  far  as  to  get  a  comprehensive  and  general  view, 
makes  this  an  estimate  of  its  humanity,  as  accurate 
as  it  is  possible,  under  the  circumstances,  to  that 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          27 

particular  spirit.  The  soul  here  separates  itself 
from  its  own  idiosyncrasy,  or  individuality,  and 
considers  its  own  being,  not  as  appertaining  solely 
to  itself,  but  as  a  portion  of  the  universal  Ego.  All 
important  good  resolutions  of  character  are  brought 
about  at  these  crises  of  life;  and  thus  it  is  our  sense 
of  self  which  debases  and  keeps  us  debased.'* 

Poe  and  Gaston  were  great  friends.  The  living 
man  knew  that  had  he  known  Poe  in  the  body  he 
would  have  feared  and  detested  him,  but  there  was 
no  doubt  he  had  left  trails  of  glory  in  his  wake,  for 
the  comfort  of  struggling  humanity,  if  only  one  could 
lose  sight  of  the  man,  in  the  spiritual  effulgence  of 
his  genius. 

Gaston,  in  his  detached  life,  practised  many 
arts  upon  his  individuality  and  character.  He  had 
time  and  to  spare  to  "abandon  the  body,"  and  he  was 
growing  more  and  more  confident,  that  in  these 
self-imposed  crises  he  was  gaining  not  only  strength, 
but  a  keen  and  absorbing  interest  in  others.  If 
the  sense  of  self  debased,  then  this  detachment  was 
his  great  salvation. 

The  rings  of  smoke  curled  upward,  lost  shape 
and  formed  a  haze  of  blueness.  The  heat  became 
intense,  and  the  noises  of  the  summer  night  magni- 
fied. The  windows  and  doors  were  set  wide,  Gas- 
ton's  wood-trained  senses  were  alert  even  in  this 
abstraction. 

"What  next?"     That  was  the  question.     He  had 


28         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

just  come  through  a  conflict  with  flying  colours. 
He  was  flushed  with  victory,  but  the  after  details 
annoyed  him.  With  the  waning  enthusiasm  of 
achievement,  from  his  point  of  vantage  of  abandon- 
ment, he  was  trying  to  see  beyond  this  confident 
hour  —  see  into  the  plain  common  days  when  a 
sense  of  self  would  control  him,  tempt  him,  lure, 
and  perhaps,  betray  him.  What  then  ? 

The  realization  of  Joyce  Birkdale's  womanhood 
a  time  back  had  shaken  him  almost  as  much  as  it 
had  the  girl  herself. 

It  had  all  been  so  peaceful,  so  elemental  and 
satisfying  before:  that  companionship  with  the 
little  lonely,  aspiring,  neglected  child.  She  was  so 
responsive  and  joyous;  so  eager  to  learn,  so  child- 
ishly interested  in  the  fairy  tales  of  another  sort  of 
existence  that  he  kept  from  decay  by  repeating  to 
her.  And  then  that  sudden,  upleaping  flame  in 
the  purple-black  eyes.  The  fierce  rush  of  hot, 
live  blood  to  the  pale  face.  The  grip  of  those 
small  work-stained  hands  as  they  sought  dumbly 
to  stay  the  trembling  until  he  had  taken  them  into 
his  firm  control. 

Well,  confronted  by  the  blinding  flash,  he  had 
acted  the  man.  That  was  good.  He  had  not  acted 
thoughtlessly,  either.  He  had  sent  the  quivering 
little  thing  away  quietly,  and  with  no  sense  of  bit- 
terness, until  he  had  threshed  the  matter  out.  And 
then  in  the  Long  Meadow,  he  had  set  the  girlish 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          29 

feet  upon  the  trail  he  had  blazed  out  for  them 
during  the  nights  of  temptation  and  days  of  lonely 
self-abnegation. 

It  was  a  hard,  stumbling  way  he  had  fixed  upon. 
His  heart  yearned  over  the  girl  even  as  he  urged 
her  on.  But  Joyce  was  demanding  her  woman's 
rights.  Demanding  them  none  the  less  insistently, 
because  she  was  unconscious  of  their  nature.  He 
knew,  and  he  must  go  before  her;  but  there  waa 
small  choice  of  way. 

When  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms  out  there  in 
the  open,  he  had  bidden  her  farewell  with  much 
the  same  feeling  that  one  has  who  kisses  the  uncon- 
scious lips  of  a  child,  and  leaves  him  to  the  doubtful 
issue  of  a  necessary  surgical  operation. 

But  the  victory  over  self  was  his,  and  Joyce  was  on 
Life's  table.  There  was  a  sort  of  feverish  comfort 
now  in  contemplating  what  might  have  been.  Many 
a  man  —  and  he  knew  this  only  too  well  —  would 
have  put  up  a  strong  plea  for  the  opposite  course. 

What  was  he  resigning  her  to  at  the  best  ?  There 
was  no  conceit  in  the  thought  that,  had  he  beckoned, 
Joyce  would  have  leaped  into  the  circle  of  his  love 
and  protection.  Not  in  any  low  or  self-seeking 
sense  would  the  girl  have  responded  —  of  that,- 
too,  he  was  aware;  but  as  a  lovely  blossom  caressed 
by  favouring  sun  and  light,  forgetting  the  slime 
and  darkness  of  its  origin,  she  might  have  burst 
into  a  bloom  of  beauty. 


30          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Yes,  beauty!  Gaston  fiercely  thought.  Instead 
—  there  was  honour!  His  honour  and  hers,  and 
the  benediction  of  Society  —  if  Society  ever  pene- 
trated to  the  North  Solitude. 

Joyce  would  forget  her  soul  vision,  she  would 
marry  Jock  Filmer  —  no;  it  was  Jude  Lauzoon 
who,  for  some  unknown,  girlish  reason,  she  had 
preferred  when  she  had  been  cast  out  from  the 
circle  of  his,  Gaston's  protection. 

Yes,  she  would  marry  Jude  —  and  Jock  might 
have  made  her  laugh  occasionally  —  Jude,  never! 
She  would  live  in  cramped  quarters,  and  have  a 
family  of  children  to  drag  her  from  her  individual 
superiority  to  their  everlasting  demands  upon  her. 
Perhaps  Jude  would  treat  her,  eventually,  as  other 
St.  Ange  husbands  treated  their  wives.  At  that 
thought  Gaston's  throat  contracted,  but  a  memory 
of  the  girl's  strange,  uplifted  dignity  gave  him 
heart  to  hope. 

Again  the  reverse  of  the  picture  was  turned  toward 
him.  He  saw  her  flitting  about  his  home  —  who 
was  there  to  hold  her  back,  or  care  that  she  had 
sought  dishonour  instead  of  honour  ? 

He  might  have  trained  and  guided  that  keen 
mind,  and  cultivated  the  delicate,  innate  taste. 
Yes;  he  might  have  created  a  rare  personality,  and 
brightened  his  own  life  at  the  same  time  —  and  the 
years  and  years  would  have  stretched  on,  and  nothing 
would  have  interrupted  the  pure  passage  of  their 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         31 

lives  until  death  had  taken  one  or  both.  Gaston 
sat  upright,  and  flung  the  pipe  away.  Suppose  he 
should  choose  to  —  go  back  ?  Well,  in  that  case 
it  would  have  gone  hard  with  Joyce.  The  soul  he 
had  awakened  and  glorified  would  have  to  be 
flung  back  into  the  hell  from  which  its  ignorance 
shielded  it. 

That  was  it.  In  giving  the  girl  the  best  —  yes,  the 
best,  in  one  sense  —  he  must  forego  his  own  soul's 
good ;  forego  the  hope  that  he  might  some  day  choose 
to  go  back  —  and  in  that  hope,  lay  Joyce's  damnation. 

Through  dishonour  —  as  men  might  have  classi- 
fied it  —  he  might  have  lifted  Joyce  up,  but  to  save 
her  soul  alive  from  the  hope  he  reserved  for  himself 
—  his  open  door  —  he  must  drive  her  back  to  squalor 
and  even  worse. 

He  had  chosen  for  her  and  for  himself.  He  had 
his  hope;  Joyce  was  to  have  her  honour;  and  now, 
what  next  ? 

His  renunciation  had  strengthened  him.  His 
good  resolutions  steadied  him;  in  the  regained 
empire  of  his  self-respect  he  contemplated  the  loneli- 
ness of  exile,  self-imposed,  but  none  the  less  dreary. 
He  was  so  human  in  his  inclinations,  so  pitifully 
dependent  upon  his  environment;  and  since  he  had 
stepped  from  the  train  three  years  ago,  these  rough 
people  had  taken  him  at  his  face  value;  desired  nor 
cared  for  nothing  but  what  he  chose  to  give.  Deso- 
late St.  Ange  was  dear  to  him. 


32         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

No,  he  would  remain.  There  was  really  no  reason 
why  he  should  abdicate  the  little  that  was  his  own. 
All  should  be  as  it  was,  except  for  Joyce,  and  even 
she,  now  that  he  was  sure  of  himself  and  had  the 
rudder  in  hand,  even  she  might  claim  his  friendship 
and  sympathy  in  her  new  life. 

He  started.  His  quick  ear  detected  the  slow  step 
outside. 

"Hello,  Jude,"  he  called  without  getting  up. 
"Step  in;  I'll  fetch  a  light." 

"How  did  you  know  'twas  me?"  Jude  asked 
from  the  outer  darkness.  The  salutation  made 
him  feel  anew  the  awe  of  constant  supervision. 

"I  thought  you'd  drop  in,"  Gaston  carried 
the  lamp  into  the  living  room  and  set  it  upon  the 
table. 

Jude  shambled  in,  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  table 
and  sat  down.  Gaston  took  his  place  opposite  and 
kept  his  eyes  upon  his  caller.  Jude  grew  restless 
under  the  calm  inspection.  He  had  come  with  a 
goodly  stock  of  self-assertion  and  sudden-gained 
dignity,  but  they  withered  under  the  inquiring  gaze. 

"You've  come  from  Joyce  Birkdale's  ?  I  con- 
gratulate you,  Jude." 

So  he  knew  that  too!  Jude  felt  a  superstitious 
aversion  to  this  man  he  had  but  recently  begun  to 
have  any  feeling  toward  whatever  outside  the  ordi- 
nary give  and  take  of  village  life. 

Over  the  ground  he  had  come  laboriously  to  dis- 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         33 

cuss,  Gaston  strode  with  unerring  instinct.  There 
were  no  words  ready  for  this  friendly  advance,  so 
Jude  halted.  He  had  meant  to  approach  the 
announcement  of  his  engagement  to  Joyce  by  telling 
Gaston  what  he  had  seen  from  the  hilltop  that 
afternoon  and  what  he  had  gained  since,  and  then 
he  had  intended,  in  man-fashion,  to  warn  Gaston 
off  his  preserves.  Instead,  he  sat  twirling  his  cap 
and  foolishly  staring. 

"Smoke  ?"  Gaston  felt  his  guest's  discomfort  and 
tried  to  ease  the  strain.  He  pushed  the  tobacco- 
jar  forward;  no  St.  Ange  man  ever  travelled  without 
his  own  pipe. 

"Given  it  up,"  muttered  Jude,  "and  cards  like- 
wise, and  —  and  drink;  I'm  going  to  get  married 
right  away." 

This  was  rather  startling.  Gaston  had  expected 
some  faltering  on  Joyce's  part,  some  dallying  with 
the  past.  The  smoke  of  his  burning  bridges  was 
still  in  Gaston's  consciousness.  He  had  lighted 
the  fuse,  to  be  sure,  but  had  not  expected  the  demoral- 
ization to  be  so  prompt. 

For  a  minute  his  gaze  faltered,  then  he  said 
cordially: 

"Good!  And  you  won't  drink  to  it  —  or  smoke 
over  it  ?  Well,  then,  shake,  old  man." 

For  the  life  of  him  Jude  could  not  decline.  So 
their  hands  met  over  the  bare  table. 

An  awkward  pause  followed.     Gaston  took  refuge 


34         JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

in  smoke.  He  drew  the  inevitable  pipe  from  his 
pocket,  filled  and  lighted  it,  and  during  the  time  of 
grace,  got  himself  in  hand. 

"Jude,"  he  said  between  puffs,  "I  want  to  see 
her  married." 

Jude's  anger  rose.  The  words  and  the  tone 
brought  back  his  suspicions  and  jealousies. 

"I  want  that  girl  to  have  a  chance  at  life."  Gas- 
ton  looked  over  Jude's  head,  and  drew  hard  upon 
his  pipe.  "She's  never  really  waked  up.  Just 
got  the  call,  you  know.  Before  this,  she's  been 
dreaming,  and  God  alone  knows  where  she  got 
her  dream  material.  Like  the  rest  of  us,  until  she 
finds  out,  she's  going  to  expect  her  dream  to  come 
true.  In  heaven's  name,  Lauzoon,  help  her  to 
make  it  true." 

The  import  of  all  this  touched  Jude  not  at  all,  but 
the  meddling  of  this  outsider  did  mightily  stir  him 
to  depths  he  had  never  fathomed  before.  Suddenly 
a  kind  of  courage  came  to  him,  partly  worthy,  but 
wholly  unreasonable. 

"I  ain't  no  wooden-head,  as  some  thinks  I  am," 
he  blurted  out,  while  his  dull  eyes  flashed;  "and, 
by  gosh,  I  want  that  darn  well  understood  between 
you  and  me,  Mr.  Gaston!  I  don't  want  any  inter- 
ference in  my  affairs;  but  as  to  what  you're  drivin* 
at,  perhaps,  I'll  say  this.  I'm  going  to  let  Joyce 
have  her  head  —  in  reason." 

"You    better,"     Gaston    laughed    unpleasantly. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         35 

He  rather  liked  Jude  the  better  for  his  uprising; 
but  he  had  no  intention  of  showing  a  flag  of  truce 
now. 

"Why?"  asked  Lauzoon;  the  laugh  irritated 
him. 

"Oh,  it's  plain  common  sense  to  be  with  her, 
instead  of  against  her,  when  she  gets  fully  awake. 
Her  kind  goes  well  enough  in  harness  if  the  other 
one  pulls  a  fair  share  —  if  he  doesn't  —  why,  the 
chances  are  —  she'd  break  the  traces  and  —  clip 
it  alone." 

"Alone,  hey  ?"  It  was  Jude's  turn  to  laugh  now. 
"  You  ain't  got  the  lay  of  the  country  yet,  Mr.  Gas- 
ton,  not  so  far  as  the  women  is  concerned.  How 
in  thunder  is  a  woman  to  go  alone,  I'd  like  to  know, 
in  St.  Ange  ?  Once  she's  married,  she's  married, 
and  she  knows  it.  Go  alone  ?  I'd  like  to  know 
where  she'd  go  to  ?  " 

A  breeze  was  now  stirring  outside.  Gaston  felt 
it  and  he  shivered  slightly. 

"Jude,"  he  continued  after  a  moment,  "they 
sometimes  go  to  the  devil,  you  know.  Even  St. 
Ange's  ideals  do  not  prevent  that,  judging  from 
things  I've  heard." 

"Not  her  kind,"  Jude  muttered.  He  was  hark- 
ing back  to  Lola  Laval.  How  the  girl  rose  and 
haunted  him  to-night !  "  Not  her  kind,  Mr.  Gaston." 

"No,  you're  right,  Jude  —  not  her  kind  as  she 
is  now.  That's  just  the  point.  It's  poor  work, 


36         JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

though,  to  draw  on  your  bank  account  without  noting 
how  your  balance  stands.  If  you  do,  you'll  get  a 
surprise  some  day.  Joyce  wants  the  best  she  can 
get  out  of  life.  She's  had  a  vision,  poor  little  girl, 
and  she's  making  for  that  vision,  believing  it  a  reality. 
We  all  do  that,  old  man,  and  it's  up  to  you  to  give 
her  as  much  of  what  she  wants  as  you  can.  She's 
been  building  a  place  for  her  soul"  -  Gaston  was 
thinking  aloud.  Jude  had  vanished  from  his  hori- 
zon -  "and  she's  going  up  to  take  possession  some 
day.  God,  how  that  woman  is  going  to  love  — 
something!" 

And  just  then  Jude  shifted  into  view  again  upon 
the  line  of  Gaston's  perceptions.  He  had  risen  to 
his  feet  and  was  glaring  at  his  companion.  There 
was  an  ugly  look  on  his  face,  and  his  hands  trembled 
with  the  effort  he  made  to  restrain  himself. 

"Say,  Mr.  Gaston,"  he  blurted  out,  "all  that  talk 
is  damned  moonshine,  and  I  ain't  such  a  fool  but 
what  I  know  it.  Such  gaff  ain't  nourishing.  Now 
as  to  Joyce,  I'm  going  to  do  the  square  thing  by  her. 
Her  book-learning  is  all  right  if  she  keeps  it  to  her-, 
self,  and  don't  let  it  get  mixed  up  with  her  duties 
'long  of  me.  And  right  here,  Mr.  Gaston,"  Jude 
choked  miserably,  "I  guess  her  and  me  don't  want 
no  coaching  from  you.  No  harm  intended,  under- 
stand, but  just  a  clean  showing." 

Indignation  and  a  realization  of  his  own  insig- 
nificance, had  hurled  Jude  along  up  to  this  point, 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         37 

but  he  was  suddenly  landed  high  and  dry  by  the 
calm,  amused  look  in  Gaston's  eyes. 

"Too  bad  you  don't  smoke,  Jude,"  Gaston  said 
quietly,  refilling  his  pipe.  "But  sit  down,  and 
loosen  your  collar.  The  room  is  infernally  close. 
I've  been  thinking  some  of  leaving  St.  Ange  - 

"When  are  you  going?"  Jude  broke  in  with  an 
eagerness  that  intensified  the  smile  on  Gaston's 
face,  and  bade  the  devil  in  him  awake.  The  same 
devil  that  in  boyhood  days  had  made  him  such  an 
irritant  to  the  bullies  of  his  class. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going,"  he  replied,  puffing  luxu- 
riously upon  his  pipe;  "I've  changed  my  mind. 
All  I  wanted  was  new  scenes  and  occupations.  I've 
decided  to  stay  on  awhile.  But  I've  been  thinking, 
Jude,  you  don't  want  to  take  Joyce  into  your  shack. 
Let's  build  her  another  up  on  the  sunny  slope 
beyond  the  Long  Meadow  on  the  Hillcrest  side. 
I'm  gaining  strength  each  year;  I  like  to  keep  myself 
busy  and  the  work  would  be  a  godsend  to  me.  What 
do  you  say  ?  I  can  lend  you  a  little  money,  too, 
if  you  need  it." 

Need  it  ?  Unconsciously  Gaston  had  touche-i 
the  spring  that  unlocked  the  evilest  part  of  Jude's 
nature.  Jealousy,  love,  hate,  were  blotted  out  by 
this  unlooked-for  suggestion.  His  dark  face  flushed 
and  his  dull  eyes  gleamed.  Money!  Money!  To 
handle  it,  spend  it  and  enjoy  it  without  great  bodily 
effort  in  earning  it.  This  had  ever  been  a  consuming 


38         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

passion  with  Jude.  A  passion  that  had  remained 
smouldering  because  no  favouring  chance  had  ever 
fanned  it.  Lazy  and  hot-blooded,  Jude,  in  a  pros- 
perous community,  might  have  developed  criminal 
tendencies  young;  in  St.  Ange  there  had  been  nothing 
to  tempt  him  —  until  now. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  and  Gaston  saw  the  change 
in  him.  "I  —  I  may  be  glad  of  a  small  loan  —  just 
at  the  start,  you  know,  and  before  I  get  my  pay 
from  the  camp  boss.  It's  almighty  kind  of  you,  Mr. 
Gaston,  to  think  of  this  here  building  and  all.  Me 
and  Joyce  will  take  it  grateful,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Going?"  Gaston  asked,  for  Jude  had  risen  and 
was  awkwardly  shifting  from  foot  to  foot.  "Well, 
so  long!  Good  luck  —  and  a  speedy  marriage." 

Then  the  door  closed  upon  the  transformed  Jude. 

"Now,  what  in  thunder,"  mused  Gaston  in  the 
hot,  smoky  room,  "has  got  into  that  fellow,  I 
wonder!"  Could  they  know  of  his  money  ?  The 
amount,  and  manner  of  getting  it  ?  Was  he,  in  offer- 
ing Jude  this  assistance,  letting  the  leak  in  upon 
his  own  safety  ? 

A  cloud  gathered  on  Gaston's  face.  A  sensa- 
tion of  coming  evil  possessed  him.  He  felt  as  if, 
in  an  unguarded  moment,  he  had  given  an  enemy 
a  power  over  him. 

The  memory  of  the  look  in  Jude's  face  when  the 
money  cast  a  gleam  over  his  hate,  repelled  him. 
Gaston  was  as  fully  alive  to  the  possibilities  now  a* 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         39 

Jude  was  —  perhaps  more  so;  but  there  stood  the 
pale,  innocent  girl  between  them.  He  recalled  her 
hurt,  quivering  face  when  he  had  urged  her  into 
Jude's  keeping.  It  had  seemed  her  only  salvation  — 
hers  and  his!  But  it  began  to  look  now  like  a  hide- 
ous damnation. 

"  Poor  little  devil,"  he  murmured  taking  the  lamp 
and  going  back  into  his  bedroom. 

The  window  of  this  room  he  closed  carefully, 
and  set  the  lamp  upon  the  rude  desk.  He  drew 
the  pistol  from  the  drawer,  and  laid  it  conveniently 
at  hand,  then  he  turned  to  the  chest  with  the  mighty 
lock  and,  having  unfastened  it,  drew  forth  a  small 
package  and  went  back  to  the  chair  before  the  desk. 

The  package  contained  a  photograph  and  some 
letters.  The  letters  were  tied  together,  and  these 
the  man  placed  beside  the  pistol.  The  photograph 
he  took  from  its  various  wrappings  of  tissue  paper 
and  braced  it  against  the  lamp. 

The  big  clock  hanging  over  the  window  frame 
struck  one.  The  heat  in  the  little  room  became 
stifling,  and  the  lamp  flickered  in  its  duty  —  foj 
the  oil  was  running  low. 

With  arms  folded  before  him  Gaston  gazed  upoiy 
the  pictured  face.  It  broke  upon  the  senses  like 
a  revelation  of  womanhood.  At  the  first  glance 
it  seemed  as  if  just  that  type  had  never  been  conceived 
before.  The  artist  had  grasped  that  conception 
evidently,  for  with  no  shading  or  background,  with 


40          JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS 

only  a  filmy  scarf  outlining  the:  form  from  the  colour- 
less paper,  the  compelling  features  started  vividly 
upon  the  vision,  as  the  individuality  of  the  girl  did 
upon  the  imagination.  An  irritation  followed  the 
first  impression.  Was  this  child,  or  woman  ?  What 
was  she  to  become,  or  what  had  she  become  already  ? 
Was  she  a  soul  reaching  out  for  realization,  or  a 
well-developed  personality,  having  gained,  with  all 
its  other  attainments,  a  power  of  self-concealment 
from  the  inquisitive  eye  ? 

The  brow,  low  and  broad,  bespoke  gracious 
womanhood  and  a  possible  radiant  maternity, 
rather  than  intellectuality.  The  masses  of  hair 
were  braided  and  wound  coronet-style  about  the 
small  uplifted  head.  The  eyes,  deep,  dark,  and 
mystical  gave  no  clue  to  the  inner  woman;  but  the 
mouth,  while  it  was  tender  in  its  curves,  had  a 
rigidity  of  purpose  in  its  expression  that  fixed  the 
attention.  A  pretty,  rounded  chin,  a  slender,  slightly 
tilted  nose,  an  exquisite  throat  set  off  by  the  cloud 
of  lace  —  such  was  the  face  that  Gaston  beheld, 
and  presently  it  wrung  a  groan  from  him. 

"  Ruth,  Ruth,  Ruth,"  he  muttered,  and  then  his 
mind  took  to  the  memory-haunted  highway  that 
led  back,  back  of  the  lonely  years  of  St.  Ange;  past 
a  certain  black  horror  that  had  stood,  and  would 
always  stand,  as  a  thing  that  should  not  have  existed; 
but  which  had  been,  and  would  always  remain,  an 
object  that  cast  a  shadow  before  it  and  behind  it. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH   WOODS          41 

"Did  you  do  this  thing?" 

"I  did/' 

Question  and  answer  made  up  the  vital  happening 
in  Gaston's  life.  Everything  before  led  up  to  them, 
and  all  that  had  occurred  since  was  the  outcome. 

They  had  admitted  —  or  so  he  once  thought  — 
of  no  shading  nor  explanation.  The  questioner  was 
not  the  type  to  deal  unsteadily  with  a  problem,  and 
Gaston  had  been  too  simple  and  direct  to  note  fine 
points  or  shadings.  Perhaps  neither  of  them  had 
understood.  Life  had  been  so  fair  until  the  terrible 
thing  had  loomed  up.  It  had  come  like  a  cataclysm 
—  how  could  they,  young  and  inexperienced  as  they 
had  been,  deal  with  the  situation  justly  ? 

Suppose  now  she  stood  before  him,  wonder-eyes 
raised,  seeking  his  soul's  truth;  hands  resting  in 
his  until  he  should  speak.  Would  he  speak  again 
those  two  crude,  fatal  words  ?  Would  she  drop 
her  hands  letting  his  soul  sink,  by  so  doing,  into 
the  blackness  which  had  engulfed  it  ? 

That  was  the  torturing  problem  that  Gaston  was 
working  out  up  in  the  lonely  St.  Ange  woods;  but 
he  seemed  no  nearer  the  answer  than  when  he  had 
come  to  the  place,  by  mistake,  a  few  years  back, 
and  decided  to  stay  there  simply  because  it  was  as 
desirable  as  any  other  forsaken  spot,  while  he  was 
debarred  from  the  Paradise  of  life. 

The  lamp  flickered  fretfully,  and  the  spasmodic 
flare  showed  the  rigid  face  torn  with  the  emotions 


42          JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH   WOODS 

that  were  racking  the  soul  laid  bare  before  its  God 
and  its  own  consciousness. 

What  had  the  dreary,  desolated  years  done  for 
him  ?  He  was  a  fool.  Why  had  he  not  taken  what 
was  possible,  since  the  ideal  was  dashed  from  him  ? 

This  girl,  way  off  there  behind  the  hideous  shadow, 
had  been  wiser.  She  had  replaced  his  memory 
by  living  love;  why  should  not  he  take  the  poor 
substitute  that  the  Solitude  offered,  and  warm  the 
barren  places  of  his  heart  and  life  with  the  faint  glow  ? 

It  was  a  bad  hour  for  Temptation  to  assail  John 
Gaston. 

The  armour  of  self-wrought  strength  was  off. 
Suffering  was  flaying  the  naked  despair  and  yearn- 
ing; and  just  then  Temptation  knocked  softly  and 
pitifully  at  the  door  of  the  outer  room ! 

Gaston  had  done  more  while  he  had  hidden  in 
the  woods  than  he  was  aware  of.  He  had  developed 
something  akin  to  second  sight.  Loneliness  and 
empty  hours  had  strengthened  this  as  blindness  inten- 
sifies other  senses  to  abnormal  keenness.  Gradually 
he  had  grown  to  believe  that  a  man's  life,  complete 
and  prearranged,  lies  stretched  before,  and  occasion- 
ally some,  when  the  circumstances  are  propitious 
and  the  soul  has  a  certain  detachment  that  ignores 
the  bodily  claims,  can  leap  over  the  now  and  here,  and 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  future  and  what  it  holds. 
This  vague  sense  had  come  to  Gaston  more  than 
once  during  the  past  year  or  two  —  the  seeing  and 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         43 

hearing  of  that  which  had  held  no  part  in  what 
was,  at  the  moment,  occurring,  but  which  he  noted 
later  had  become  a  fact  in  his  life. 

That  feeble  knock  dragged  the  man's  conscious- 
ness away  from  the  pictured  face;  away  from  his 
wavering  indecision;  away  from  the  darkening 
room  with  its  foul  smell  of  oil:  he  knew  who  stood 
outside  in  the  moonlighted,  fragrant  summer  night, 
and  he  wondered  if  he  were  going  to  open  that  barred 
door  to  her.  He  waited  for  a  glimpse  of  what  was 
in  store  for  them  both. 

But  his  spiritual  sight  was  blinded  by  a  firm, 
deadening  blankness!  Whatever  was  to  be  the 
outcome  must  be  of  his  own  choosing. 

Again  she  knocked,  that  poor  little  temptress  in 
the  dark.  What  had  Fate  decreed  that  he  was  to 
do  ?  Gaston  knew  as  well  as  if  Joyce  had  told  him, 
why  she  had  come.  Her  soul  had  revolted  from 
her  concession  to  Jude  In  the  bewitched  hours 
of  darkness,  the  primitive,  savage  instinct  had 
driven  the  girl  to  the  only  one  who  could  change 
her  future.  Worn,  weary,  defiant,  she  had  come 
to  him;  not  questioning  further  than  her  despair 
and  his  power. 

Well,  why  not  ?  Who  would  be  the  worse,  and 
who  the  better  —  if  he  drew  her  within  and  closed 
the  door  upon  —  St.  Ange  ? 

Another  tap  —  this  tim^  upon  the  wooden  shutter 
of  xhe  bedchamber! 


44         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Gaston  shivered  and  trembled.  He  was  not 
outside;  he  was  stifling  in  the  dark  room.  The 
light  had  gone  entirely,  and  he  was  struggling  to 
free  himself  from  an  intangible  enemy  or  friend; 
a  thing  that  had,  unknown  to  himself,  evolved  during 
those  isolated  years  among  the  pines,  and  was 
restraining  his  lower  nature  now. 

He  battled  to  get  to  that  little,  insistent  girl.  He 
heard  her  sob,  a  childish  sob,  half  desire,  half  fear. 
The  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead  and  his  hands 
gripped  the  edge  of  his  desk  as  he  got  upon  his  feet. 

The  sob  outside  was  echoed  by  a  stifled  groan 
from  within  —  then  all  was  still. 

Slow  retreating  steps  presently  sounded  without. 
She,  that  sad,  broken,  little  temptress,  was  going 
to  meet  the  fore-ordained  future  that  lay  before. 
There  was  nothing  else  left  for  her  to  do.  All  her 
reserves  were  taken. 

Then  Gaston,  when  all  as  beyond  his  power  of 
recall  or  desire,  opened  the  window. 

Softly,  sweetly,  the  fresh  morning  air  entered.  It 
was  a  young  and  good  morning.  A  morning  cool 
and  faintly  tinted,  a  morning  to  soothe  a  hurt  heart, 
not  to  stimulate  it  too  harshly. 

Gaston's  lined  face  smoothed  under  the  caress. 
His  armour  arose  as  if  unseen  hands  guided  it,  and 
placed  it  again  upon  him.  Once  more  he  was  the 
strong,  quiet  man  that  St.  Ange  had  taken  upon 
faith,  and  accepted  without  question. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         45 

As  he  looked  at  the  scene,  his  self-respect  giving 
him  courage  to  meet  the  day,  Jude  Lauzoon's  soft- 
stepping  figure  materialized  upon  the  edge  of  the 
pine  woods. 

The  humour  of  the  situation  for  a  moment  gripped 
Gaston's  senses.  Had  all  St.  Ange  stayed  awake  and 
been  on  guard  while  the  night  passed  ?  But  the 
smile  faded.  How  long  had  Jude  been  there  ?  Long 
enough  to  know  all,  or  just  long  enough  to  know 
half? 

What  should  he  do  ?  If  Jude  knew  but  half, 
no  explanation  could  possibly  avail.  If  he  knew  all; 
if  he  had  been  on  guard  before  Joyce  came  —  been 
camping  out  with  no  definite  purpose,  since  his 
late  talk  in  the  shack  —  why,  then  it  was  simply  a 
matter  to  be  settled  between  Lauzoon  and  Joyce. 
God  help  her!  He,  Gaston,  could  serve  best  by 
retiring.  This  he  did  physically. 

He  put  away  his  treasures  and  locked  them  fast; 
then,  flinging  himself  upon  the  pine-bough  bed, 
dressed  as  he  was,  he  soon  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep. 


CHAPTER  III 

JARED     BIRKDALE,  with    a    contemplative 
eye,    looked   at  his    daughter    through     the 
haze   of  his  tobacco   smoke  as  if  seeing  her 
for  the  first  time.     In  a  way  this  was  so.     He  was 
not  one  to  take  heed  of  time  or  happenings.     When 
he  was  not  obliged  to  work,  he  was  enjoying  himself 
in  his  own  way,  and  so  long  as  nothing  jarred  him, 
life   slipped    by   comfortably   enough. 

When  he  worked  he  was  away,  as  all  St.  Ange 
men  were,  in  the  camps.  Occupation,  outside  of 
Leon  Tate's  profession,  was  the  same  for  all  the  men 
after  first  boyhood  was  past.  When  the  logging 
season  was  over  Jared,  more  temperate,  perhaps 
more  cruel  for  that  reason,  settled  down.  When 
he  was  not  occupying  the  chair  of  honour  at  the 
Black  Cat  —  given  him  by  common  consent  because 
of  his  superior  mental  endowments  —  he  was  loung- 
ing at  home  and  idly  appreciating  the  plain  comfort 
for  which  Joyce  was  responsible;  a  comfort  Jared 
neither  understood  nor  questioned. 

But  little  Billy  Falstar,  the  day  before,  with  the 
fiendish  depravity  of  a  mischief-making  child,  had 
set  the  match  to  a  fuse  of  gunpowder  all  ready  for 
it  down  at  the  Black  Cat. 

46 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         47 

Resenting  the  treatment  Jude  had  given  him  when 
he  had  voiced  his  observations  about  Gaston  and 
Joyce,  he  had  gone  to  the  tavern  to  nurse  his  wounded 
feelings  where  company  and  safety  abounded.  His 
fear  of  Jude  had  departed. 

Several  men,  Birkdale  among  them,  were  sitting 
about  when  Billy,  sniffing  and  rubbing  his  knuckles 
in  his  eyes  to  such  an  extent  that  of  necessity  notice 
must  be  taken,  drew  their  attention. 

"What's  up,  Billy?"  asked  Jock  Filmer  good- 
naturedly;  "shingle  struck  a  thin  place  in  your 
breeches  ?  Go  around  and  buy  a  peppermint  stick. 
Here's  a  cent.  Peppermint  ought  to  be  as  good 
for  a  pain  in  your  hindquarters  as  it  is  for  one  in  your 
first  cabin.  Let  up,  kid,  and  get  cheerful!" 

Billy  accepted  the  coin,  but  turned  a  calculating 
eye  on  the  others.  If  his  news  had  had  power  to 
rouse  Jude,  how  would  it  act  now  ?  Billy,  freckled 
and  sharp-eyed,  was  a  born  tragedian. 

"'Tain't  Ma,"  he  said.  "No  more  was  it  Pa; 
it  was  that  Jude  what  beat  me  most  to  a  jelly." 

This  was  startling  enough  to  awaken  a  new  interest. 
Jude  was  too  lazy  on  general  principles  to  reduce  any 
one  to  jelly  unless  the  provocation  had  been  great. 

"What  divilment  was  you  up  to?"  Filmer  asked 
with  a  leer. 

"I  didn't  do  nothing!  Ton  my  soul,  I  didn't. 
I  swear  1" 

This    Billy    did,    fervently    and    fluently.    The 


48          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

children  of  St.  Ange  swore  with  a  guileless  eloquence 
quite  outside  the  sphere  of  wickedness.  The  matter 
was  in  them.  It  must,  of  course,  come  out.  So 
Billy  swore  now  with  only  an  occasional  hitch  where 
his  indignation  muddled  pronunciation. 

"Billy's  got  a  fine  flow  of  language,"  Birkdale 
put  in  amusedly.  "For  a  youngster,  I  don't  think 
I  ever  heard  it  equalled."  Birkdale  was  about  to 
urge  Billy  to  renewed  effort,  when  something  the 
boy  was  wedging  in  among  his  evil  words  caught 
his  attention. 

"  I  was  just  a-telling  him  -  '  more  lurid  expres- 
sions —  "  'bout  Joyce  and  Mr.  Gaston.  It  didn't 
seem  like  nothing;  just  them  two  being  beaux  like 
all  girls  and  fellers,  but  Jude  he  did  me  dirt,  he  did!" 
Billy  stopped  rubbing  his  eyes. 

He  was  interested,  himself,  in  the  effect  his  words 
now  had.  For  a  moment  he  feared  all  the  men 
were  going  to  rise  up  against  him  as  Jude  had  done. 
A  silence  fell  upon  the  group.  Filmer  gave  one 
keen  glance  at  the  imp  on  the  doorstep,  and  then 
refilled  his  pipe  and  leaned  back  in  his  wooden 
chair. 

Tom  Smith,  the  ticket  agent  of  the  Station,  looked 
as  if  some  one  had  dashed  water  in  his  face,  so 
startled  was  he;  and  Jared  Birkdale  simply  stared 
open-mouthed  at  the  spy  in  their  midst.  Then 
Tate,  the  pioprietor,  with  the  tact  for  which  he  was 
noted,  went  to  the  bar  and  began  filling  glasses. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          49 

St.  Ange  had  received  a  shock;  but  St.  Ange  took 
its  shocks  in  a  peculiar  way.  It  reserved  its  opinion 
until  it  had  drunk  on  them. 

Soon  after  the  revelation  Birkdale  went  home 
without  a  word  having  been  spoken  by  any 
one  on  the  subject  so  suddenly  thrust  upon  their 
notice. 

Jared  had  gone  home  to  assure  himself  that  Joyce 
had  actually  grown  up  to  the  extent  of  making 
Billy  Falstar's  remarks  possible. 

The  afternoon's  contemplation  had  caused  him 
some  astonishment. 

Joyce  was  grown  up!  Then  he  had  slept  on  the 
knowledge,  and  dreamed  of  other  days  —  a  life 
apart,  and  beyond  St.  Ange. 

St.  Ange  was  a  young  place;  it  had  no  antiquity; 
almost  all  who  lived  there  had  had  a  setting  in  some 
other  time  and  environment. 

Jared  recalled,  in  his  thoughts  that  night,  the 
beginnings  of  things  in  his  life.  Joyce's  mother,  and 
the  babies  who  had  come  and  gone  like  little  ghosts, 
each  one  taking  more  of  the  wife's  and  mother's 
beauty  and  power. 

Then  that  flight  to  the  St.  Ange  lumber  camp  — 
it  was  really  that,  nothing  less  —  the  attending 
discomfort  and  paralyzing  reality  of  what  lay  before! 

Joyce  was  born  the  year  after  the  settlement  in 
the  rough  forest  home,  and  then  poor  Mrs.  Birk- 
dale gave  up  the  struggle. 


50          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

She  told  Isa  Tate  that  had  the  baby  been  a  boy 
she  would  not  have  felt  the  way  she  did,  but  to  face 
the  life  of  another  woman  in  her  own  life  was  more 
than  she  could  bear. 

Isa  had  tried  to  hold  her  to  her  responsibility: 
Isa  had  more  than  her  own  share  of  trouble  —  but 
Jane  Birkdale  had  slipped  away  in  the  middle  of 
the  severest  winter  St.  Ange  had  known  for  many 
a  year  and  Isa  had  been  obliged  to  have  "an  eye" 
to  the  baby  Joyce.  The  small  girl  responded  in 
health  and  joyousness,  and  Jared,  when  he  was 
himself,  had  had  the  grace  to  be  grateful. 

As  the  years  slipped  by  the  fire  of  Jared's  own 
little  private  hell  aroused  him  to  a  consciousness  that 
he  deserved  anything  but  a  happy  future. 

He  hoped,  in  due  season,  that  he  would  forget 
the  wrongs  he  had  done  his  wife,  but  they  gathered 
strength  with  time.  His  sins  walked  with  him 
through  the  sober  lumber  season;  their  memory 
drove  him  to  the  Black  Cat;  but  his  keener  wit 
evolved  a  desire  to  "make  good,"  as  he  termed  it, 
in  his  relations  with  his  daughter. 

He  would  so  conduct  himself  with  her  that  she, 
at  least,  should  have  nothing  against  him;  and 
when  age,  sickness  or  accident  befell  him,  he 
might  turn  to  her  and  find  refuge.  Jared  had 
always  had  some  kind  of  sanctuary  to  flee  to  when 
overtaken  by  the  results  of  his  own  evil  nature. 

And  now,  by  the  impish  words  of  Falstar's  Billy, 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          51 

he  was  brought  face  to  face  with  a  possibility  that 
staggered  and  unnerved  him. 

Joyce  and  Jude,  or  Joyce  and  Jock  Filmer,  had 
been  possibilities  in  Jared's  distant  future.  But 
Joyce,  already  a  woman,  and  that  silent  man  Gaston 
who  had  come  from  a  Past  that  he  rigidly  reserved 
for  his  own  contemplation  —  Gaston,  who  lived 
among  them  as  a  traveller  who  might  depart  with 
the  day  into  a  Future  Birkdale  instinctively  knew 
would  hold  no  possible  connection  with  St.  Ange  — • 
Joyce  and  Gaston!  Here  was  a  situation  indeed. 

Astonishment,  anger,  a  dull  fear  and  a  determina- 
tion to  grip  something  out  of  it.  all  for  himself, 
swayed  Jared  as  he  sat  tilted  back,  eyeing  his 
daughter  after  the  night's  travail. 

He  had  come  from  his  troubled  thought  imbued 
with  a  forced  strength  and  singleness  of  purpose 
that  made  themselves  felt  by  the  quiet  girl  at  the 
window. 

Joyce  had  brought  no  strength  from  her  disturbed 
night.  She  was  ill-fitted  for  the  encounter. 

"By  Jove,"  Jared  suddenly  ejaculated,  "it's 
just  struck  me  all  of  a  heap,  Joyce,  that  you're  more 
than  ordinary  handsome." 

The  girl  raised  her  eyes  with  a  dull  show  of  sur- 
prise, then  went  on  with  her  sewing. 

"With  the  learning  I've  given  you  over  and  above 
the  other  girls  of  the  place,  you  ought  to  do  pretty 
good  for  yourself  —  and  me  —  and  no  mistake. 


52         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

You  always  was  a  real  grateful  child,  and  you  ain't 
one  ever  to  forget  the  fifth  commandment,  Joyce  - 
the  only  one  with  a  promise." 

"The  only  one  needing  it,"  Joyce  returned,  with 
a  bitterness  for  which  she  was  sorry  the  moment 
after.  But  when  Jared  turned  to  quoting  Scripture 
the  girl  grew  rebellious.  It  was  always  distasteful 
to  her  to  see,  or  hear,  her  father  parade  his  superior 
knowledge.  For  some  reason  she  always  felt  more 
ashamed  of  him  then  than  at  any  other  time. 

"You've  got  a  nasty  bit  of  a  temper,  Joyce." 
Jared's  eye  gleamed.  "I  hope  you  ain't  going  to 
take  the  first  chance  you  get  to  shirk  your  duty  to 
me." 

"I  guess  not,  father,  but  I  hate  to  be  dragged  to 
my  duty;  and  I  have  a  headache." 

"What  give  you  that,  Joyce?" 

"I  don't  know."  Again  the  fair  head  bent 
above  the  coarse  sewing  in  the  trembling  hands. 

She  had  seen  the  light  in  the  chinks  of  Gaston's 
shutter.  She  had  felt  his  nearness,  but  rigid  aloof- 
ness. The  memory  of  these  things  had  tortured 
her  and  left  their  trace  in  worn-out  nerves  and  hurt 
pride.  She  felt  that  she  hated  Gaston  and  in  revolt 
her  thought  now  clung  to  Jude.  She  forgot  her 
father. 

"Joyce!" 

"Oh,  yes,  father."  How  the  insistent  invasion  of 
paternal  intimacy  jarred. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         53 

"I've  been  thinking  lately  how  you  and  me  might 
do  better  than  stick  here  in  St.  Ange." 

A  sudden  illumination  flashed  into  the  pale  face. 
Was  there  a  possibility  of  escape  that  did  not  include 
Jude? 

"Where  could  we  go,  father?"  Joyce  was  all 
attention. 

"Oh!  there  are  several  places.  I  wasn't  always 
here  by  a  long  shot.  I've  always  meant  to  tell  you 
some  day,  Joyce.  It  has  sometimes  struck  me  as 
singular  that  you  never  asked." 

"I  never  cared.  I  was  here  —  and  the  rest  didn't 
matter  —  or  it  never  did,  until  now." 

"Well  I  was  a  handsome  young  buck  once,  my 
girl."  Jared  glanced  at  the  mirror  hanging  over 
Joyce's  head,  and  smirked.  "I  ain't  a  bad  looking 
feller  now.  A  little  trimming  of  the  beard,  fashion- 
able clothes,  refined  surroundings  and  you'd  have 
a  father  that  any  girl  might  be  proud  of!" 

Joyce  noted  now,  as  she  had  more  than  once  before, 
since  Hillcrest  training  had  given  her  a  certain  power 
of  discrimination,  her  father's  style  of  speaking. 

"What  happened,  father,  before  you  came  here  ?" 
she  asked  vaicHy.  Her  directness,  and  the  slight 
she  paid  to  his  personal  reflections,  ruffled  Jared's 
complacency.  He  was  not  ready  to  confess  more 
than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

"Just  one  of  them  misunderstandings,"  he  replied, 
slipping  into  St.  Ange's  carelessness  of  speech,  "that 


54          JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

happens  now  and  again  to  any  young  man  with  a 
fine  taste  and  slim  purse.  A  matter  of  business! 
I  always  calculated  to  go  back  and  make  it  straight, 
after  the  first  flash  had  passed  and  I  had  money 
enough.  I  never  give  up  or  got  discouraged.  It 
was  your  mother  losing  grip  sort  of  set  me  back; 
and  then  your  raising  and  expenses  here,  kinder  held 
me  down.  But  the  spirit  in  me  has  soared  never- 
theless." 

"Sometimes  it  seems  to  me,"  Joyce's  eyes  grew 
dreamy,  "that  every  one  in  St.  Ange  has  something 
to  keep  still  about.  Every  one  seems  to  be  here 
because  he  has  to,  not  because  he  wants  to.  People 
seem  to  drift  in  here  like  logs  after  a  spring  freshet  — 
and  they  get  jammed." 

Jared  laughed.     The  idea  caught  his  fancy. 

"You've  hit  it,  Joyce!"  he  said,  " You've  hit  it  all 
right.  Jammed,  by  damn!  that's  it;  but  to  carry 
the  simile  further,  when  the  jam  is  loosened  up, 
there's  going  to  be  some  logs  as  gets  away." 

"  Where  could  we  go,  father,  and  how  ?" 

The  pleading  intensity  of  the  girl  encouraged 
Jared.  He  refilled  his  pipe,  imagined  himself  in  the 
mirror  trimmed  up  and  fashionably  attiret  ,  and  then 
drove  his  axe  to  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"When  all's  said  and  done,  girl,"  he  began,  "I've 
been  a  pretty  good  dad  to  you.  Given  you  years 
of  schooling  and  stood  by  you  when  I  might  have 
skipped  and  led  my  own  life.  Many  a  man  with 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS    55 

his  wife  dead,  and  a  kid  on  his  hands,  has  done  it. 
I've  worked  for  you,  and  given  you  the  best  home 
in  St.  Ange;  and  now  if  you  let  me  play  the  cards 
that  you've  got  in  your  hands,  we'll  get  out  of  this 
and  live  in  clover  to  the  end  o'  time." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  Joyce  gasped. 

This  was  no  idle  talk.  She  was  fascinated  and 
frightened.  It  seemed  as  if  her  father  had  his  rin- 
gers on  the  rope  that  was  strangling  the  life  out  of  her. 

"  You've  got  the  winning  cards,  my  girl,  if  I  don't 
miss  my  guess.  It's  all  in  the  playing  now.  I've 
had  one  eye  on  you  all  along,  Joyce.  I've  seen, 
like  any  kind  father  might,  that  there  ain't  a  young 
feller  between  here  and  Hillcrest  but  would  be  glad 
to  have  you.  But  like  a  rap  on  the  shut  eye  it  has 
just  been  sprung  on  me  that  Myst.  has  had  his 
mind  on  you  as  well!" 

Joyce's  eyes  dilated  and  the  colour  rose  through 
her  soft  paleness,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"It's  always  the  way.  Them  most  concerned 
gits  wind  of  scandal  last.  Even  the  brats  have 
caught  on  before  me.  But  once  your  father  has 
both  eyes  open,  folks  better  watch  out." 

"Who  do  you  mean  by  Myst.  ?"  asked  Joyce, 
and  her  strained  voice  sounded  unnatural. 

"Gaston,  to  be  sure!  I've  got  a  wit  of  my  own, 
Joyce.  Myst.  —  short  for  Mystery.  That's  what 
Gaston  is.  No  one  knows  a  damned  thing  about 
him." 


56          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Well,  that's  to  his  credit,  anyway."  Joyce  flung 
up  a  defence  now.  She  must  fight,  but  she  must 
keep  herself  out  of  sight. 

Jared  glared  angrily.     He  did  not  like  the  tone. 

"Oh !  I  ain't  the  one  to  object  to  you  keeping  your 
mouth  shut,"  he  returned.  "Jammed  logs"  -the 
phrase  stuck  in  his  mind-  "jammed  logs  don't 
creak  any;  but  when  it  comes  to  joining  forces,  like 
two  jams  together  for  instance,  there's  got  to  be,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  some  demonstration.  What 
I'm  aiming  at  is  this.  Has  this  here  Myst.  meant 
business  or  has  he  not  ?  I'm  a  man  of  the  world  — 
so  is  Gaston  —  he  ain't  never  hoodwinked  me.  I 
had  my  reasons  for  coming  here,  and  likewise,  so  has 
he.  That's  my  business  and  his,  by  thunder!  but 
when  he  meddles  in  my  affairs  he's  got  to  show  his 
hand.  Now  is  it,  or  ain't  it,  business  'twixt  you 
and  him?" 

"What  kind  of  business?"  Joyce's  voice  was  low 
and  even.  She  was  approaching  her  father  cautiously 
and  fearfully. 

"  Honourable  —  or  otherwise  ?" 

A  silence  followed.  Something  was  born,  and 
something  died  in  the  sunlighted  room  while  that 
silence  lasted. 

The  child's  dependence  upon  its  father  fell,  torn 
and  quivering,  before  the  new-risen  self-protection 
of  the  pitiful  girlhood. 

For  the  first  time,  consciously,  Joyce  experienced 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         57 

the  soul-loneliness  for  which  there  is  no  aid.  Her 
deep  eyes  pleaded  for  help  and  mercy  where  there 
was  no  help,  and  alas!  no  mercy.  Birkdale  had  his 
answer  now,  though  no  word  had  been  uttered  by 
those  quivering  lips. 

"You  can't  be  expected  to  act  for  yourself  in  these 
matters."  Jared  put  his  pipe  on  the  table  and 
brought  his  chair  to  the  floor.  "You  ain't  the  first 
girl  as  has  been  game  for  such  as  Myst.,  but  he's 
made  a  damned  mistake  if  he  thought  two  couldn't 
play  at  his  game  here  in  St.  Ange.  We'll  make 
something  out  of  him  no  mar  er  which  way  you  put 
it." 

"  Make  something  —  out  —  of  —  what  ? "  Joyce 
bent  forward  and  real  horror  filled  her  eyes.  Was 
even  the  security  of  Jude  to  be  wrenched  from 
her? 

"Out  of  Myst.  He's  got  money,  It  comes  in 
letters  —  checks.  Tate  has  ways  of  finding  out. 
Myst.  has  a  fat  account  over  to  Hillcrest.  He 
thought  we  took  him  on  trust.  We  knowed  what 
we  wanted  to  know." 

"And  so,  and  so,"  panted  Joyce,  "what  next?" 

"Well,  by  the  living  God,  if  he  wants  to  marry 
you,  let  him  come  out  and  say  so,  and  I  won't  hold 
back  my  presence  nor  my  blessing." 

It  was  quite  plain  now.  Gaston  was  the  target 
at  which  Jared  aimed.  In  some  way  she  must 
shield  him  and  shield  him  so  effectually  that  no 


$8          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

harm  could  reach  him.  There  was  no  escape  for 
her.  Every  path  was  closed  through  which  she 
had  hoped  to  go  free  and  happy. 

"I  ain't  going,  though,"  Jared  was  whining  in 
his  semi-religious  tone,  "to  have  my  reputation 
smirched.  Either  he  marries  you,  or  he  pays  well, 
and  we'll  get  out.  See  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see!"  Joyce  shivered  in  the  hot  room; 
"I  see  what  you  thihk,  but  why  do  you  suppose 
I'd  marry  Mr.  Gaston  if  he  did  want  me  ?  Some- 
times girls  don't  —  marry  —  men  even  when  they 
are  asked.  Books  ;  re  full  of  such  things."  A 
heavy  sob  came  after  the  pitiful  words. 

"Oh!  that's  your  dodge,  eh?"  Jared  laughed 
comfortably  from  the  secure  position  he  had  gained 
for  himself  from  this  misery.  "Trying  to  shield 
him,  eh  ?  It  won't  do,  Joyce.  Your  daddy's  too 
much  a  man  of  the  world  for  that.  Now  here  it 
is  in  a  nutshell:  The  boys  at  the  tavern  are  back 
of  me.  How  do  I  know  ?  You  leave  that  to  me. 
Now  I  calculate  that  Gaston  don't  want  any  of  the 
dust  of  his  past  stirred  up  by  us.  If  he's  been 
playing  with  you,  it's  for  you  to  say  whether  you'd 
rather  have  him  forced  to  marry  you,  or  have  him 
pan  out  money  enough  to  hush  the  matter  up.  I'm 
willing  to  sacrifice  something  for  you  Joyce.  I'm 
willing  to  go  so  far  as  to  say  I  don't  want  the  dust 
of  my  past  raised  —  I'm  actually  willing  to  sacrifice 
—  anything." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         59 

"Even  me!"  The  words  were  a  moan  of  fear 
and  misery. 

"Sure!"  Jared  did  not  catch  the  point.  "This 
is  an  opportunity  that  don't  come  often.  Retribu- 
tion for  Myst.,  by  thunder,  and  clear  gain  for  me  and 
you !  Out  beyond  the  high  trees,  girl,  there's  better 
diggings  for  us.  God!  how  I've  smothered,  these 
long  years.  The  end  justifies  the  means  —  you 
will  say  so,  too,  when  you  see  what  lies  down  to  the 
south." 

Jared  laughed  wildly  as  if  the  ambition  of  all 
the  desolated  years  had  been  achieved.  Joyce, 
compelled  by  his  delirious  words  and  excitement, 
almost  felt  a  responsive  sympathy;  but  her  words, 
slow  and  hard,  brought  her  and  Jared  down  to 
the  bleakness  of  St.  Ange  again. 

"You  are  wrong,  terribly  wrong.  Mr.  Gaston 
never  wanted  to  marry  me,  and  I  can  take  care  of 
myself  —  I  always  have  —  taken  care  of  myself! 
Why  —  why,  I'm  engaged  to  Jude  Lauzoon.  I'm 
going  to  marry  him  right  away.  We  can't  even 
wait  for  him  to  build  a  new  shack.  If  a  minister 
doesn't  happen  this  way,  we're  going  over  to  Hill- 
crest.  Oh,  what  a  joke  we've  played  on  you !" 

Jared  stared  idiotically,  and  Joyce's  laugh  rang 
wildly  out. 

"Mr.  Gaston  and  me!  What  an  idea!  Why, 
he's  helping  us"  -the  inspiration  to  say  this  came 
from  a  blind  belief  in  Gaston's  quick  adaptability  — • 


60          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"he's  helping  me  and  Jude —  to  what  we 
want." 

"The  devil  he  is!"  It  was  all  that  Jared  could 
clutch  from  the  rout.  "I  —  I  believe  it's  a  thun- 
dering lie,"  he  added  as  an  after-thought,  and  as 
a  cover  to  his  retreat. 

"It's  no  lie."  Joyce  had  regained  her  calmness. 
She  was  panting,  but  she  had  reached  safety  and 
she  knew  it.  An  unlovely,  unhallowed  safety,  but 
such  as  it  was  it  was  her  salvation  and  Gaston's. 

When  she  had  stolen  to  him  the  night  before  it 
was  her  last  ignorant  impulse  to  gain  her  own  ends. 
From  now  on  she  must  be  on  guard,  or  her  world 
would  come  clattering  about  her  heart  and  soul. 
It  took  Jared  some  minutes  to  digest  the  infor- 
mation that  had  been  flung  at  him  so  unexpectedly, 
and  then  anger  and  baffled  hope  swayed  him. 
Joyce  married  to  Jude  would  make  his,  Jared's, 
future  no  securer  than  it  now  was.  Indeed  it  might 
complicate  matters,  for  Jared  had  no  belief  in  Jude 
rising  above  the  dead  level  of  St.  Ange  standards. 

"You're  a  durn  fool!"  he  ejaculated  at  last,  while 
the  new  impression  of  his  daughter's  beauty  stirred 
him  painfully.  "You  are  a  durn  fool  to  fling  your- 
self away  on  Jude  when  you  might  have  done  most 
anything  with  yourself  —  if  you  was  managed  right." 

Then  in  an  evil  moment  Joyce  laughed.  Her 
lips  parted  in  an  odd  little  way  they  had  showing 
the  small  white  teeth  and  forming  the  dimples  in 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          61 

cheeks  and  chin.  So  great  was  the  girl's  relief; 
so  appalled  was  she  at  what  might  have  been,  that 
the  conflict  of  emotions  made  her  almost  hysterical. 

"Daddy/*  she  said,  between  ripples  of  laughter, 
"you  thought  you  had  me  then,  didn't  you?  But 
being  your  daughter,  you  know,  I  had  wit  enough 
to  take  care  of  myself." 

Jared  listened  to  this  outburst  in  sheer  amazement. 
Unable  to  understand,  in  the  least,  what  was  passing 
over  the  girl  before  him,  he  weighed  her  by  his  own 
low  standard,  and  drew  the  worst  possible  conclusion 
as  Jude  had  done  before  him. 

He  looked  steadily  at  Joyce,  and  he  saw  the  colour 
and  fire  come  to  cheek  and  eye.  The  ringing  laugh- 
ter struck  through  his  brutality  and  hurt  something 
in  him  that  was  akin  to  paternal  love;  but  so  long  had 
that  protecting  tenderness  been  ignored  by  Jared, 
that  now  when  it  was  called  upon  to  act,  it  did  so  in 
a  savage  rage. 

"By  heaven!"  he  thundered,  "I  catch  your 
drift,  you  young  divil.  And  if  that  Myst.  ain't  a 
slick  one!  Going  to  use  Jude  is  he,  to  pull  his 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  ?" 

Then  Jared  strode  forward  with  arm  upraised 
as  if  to  strike  and,  by  so  doing,  again  command  the 
situation.  In  like  manner  had  he  downed  and 
controlled  Joyce's  mother.  But  he  paused  before 
the  pale  undaunted  girl.  Her  laugh  died  suddenly, 
to  be  sur?,  so  suddenly  that  the  gleaming  teeth 


62          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOUDS 

and  pretty  dimples  outlived  the  mirth  long  enough 
to  give  a  stricken,  death-like  expression  to  the  face, 
but  the  change  brought  no  fear;  it  brought  some- 
thing worse. 

Joyce's  moral  sense  was  an  unknown  quantity  in 
her  present  development.  Her  father's  true  meaning 
affected  her  not  at  all;  what  she  felt  was — a 
loathing  disgust,  and  a  conviction  that  if  she  was  to 
hold  even  Jude  for  herself  against  her  father's  anger 
and  purpose,  she  must  flee  to  other  shelter. 

She  drew  herself  up  and  cast  a  look  upon  Jared 
that  he  never  forgot  to  his  dying  day.  It  was  an 
added  faggot  to  that  hell  of  his. 

"Isa  Tate,"  the  even  voice  broke  upon  him,  "Isa 
Tate  said  you  killed  my  mother.  But  I'm  not 
afraid  of  you,  and  I'm  going  to  live  my  life.  You 
can't  kill  me!  I  know  when  and  where  to  go." 

With  that  she  gathered  up  the  work  that  had 
fallen  to  the  floor,  and  almost  ran  into  the  little 
bedchamber  beyond  the  kitchen,  closing  the  door 
after  her. 

Jared  sat  dumbly  staring  at  the  wooden  barrier. 
He  longed  to  call  her,  but  his  tongue  pricked  with 
excitement. 

He  dared  not  go  to  her  —  so  he  waited.  He 
heard  her  moving  about  inside  the  room.  A  half- 
hour  passed,  then  an  hour.  Noon  came  and  went. 
The  fire  was  out,  and  dinner,  apparently,  was  as 
distant  as  it  had  been  two  hours  before. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         63 

Jared  fell  asleep  in  his  hard  chair,  his  dishevelled 
head  lying  on  his  arms  folded  on  the  bare  table. 
When  he  awoke  it  was  three  o'clock  and  Joyce  stood 
before  him. 

She  was  very  white,  and  the  drawn  look  was  still 
in  evidence.  She  wore  a  blue-and-white  checked 
gown;  short  and  scant  it  was,  but  daintily  fresh  and 
sweet.  She  had  her  poor  little  best  hat  on  —  a 
hat  with  a  bunch  of  roses  on  the  side  —  and  she 
carried  a  large  basket  in  her  hand. 

Jared  stared  at  her  as  if  she  were  part  of  a  night- 
marish dream. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked  hoarsely,  a 
new  fear  gripping  him. 

"It  doesn't  matter  to  you,  father.  I'm  just — • 
going." 

Jared  experienced  a  shock  as  he  realized  how 
far  this  girl  had  already  gone  from  him. 

"Good-bye,"  she  faltered;  "good-bye,  father." 

She  turned  from  him  and  walked  to  the  door. 
Then  a  latent  power  for  good  roused  Jared. 

"Joyce,"  he  called  after  her;  "there's  twenty 
dollars  left  —  take  it  all,  girl." 

"No." 

"Then  for  God's  sake  take  half!"  He  was 
pleading,  pleading  with  a  woman  for  the  first  time  in 
his  selfish,  depraved  life. 

Joyce  turned  and  looked  at  him,  and  the  tears 
filled  her  eyes. 


64         JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"No,"  she  repeated,  "I— I  couldn't  take  it. 
I  don't  want  it;  but  I'm  going  to  Isa  Tate,  father." 

How  frightfully  still  and  lonely  she  had  left  the 
little  house.  Jared  looked  at  the  old  furniture  and 
found  it  strange  and  unnatural.  The  summer  day 
grew  dim  as  he  waited  there  among  the  ruins  of  all 
that  he  thought  had  been  his  own.  No  dinner; 
no  probable  supper -- Jared  thought  upon  the 
physical  discomfort,  too,  but  he  was  sober  enough, 
and  shocked  enough  to  give  heed  to  the  graver  side 
of  the  situation. 

What  he  suffered  as  the  afternoon  faded  and  the 
ticking  of  the  clock  thudded  on  his  senses,  no  one 
could  ever  know. 

We  may  leave  retribution  for  sin  out  of  our  scheme 
of  things-as-they-should-be  for  others.  Each  sin 
takes  care  of  itself,  and  burns  and  blisters  as  it 
strikes  in.  Men  may  suffer  without  giving  out- 
ward sign.  Justice  is  never  cheated,  and  we  may 
trust  her  workings  alone.  Jared  suffered.  Suffered 
until  nerves  and  body  could  bear  no  more,  and  then 
he  went  down  to  the  Back  Cat  to  face  the  situation 
Joyce  had  created  and  deal  with  it  in  his  own 
fashion. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEN  Joyce  went  with  bowed  head  from 
the  only  semblance  of  a  home  that  had 
ever  been  hers,  she  carried  with  her,  in 
the  rough  basket,  all  that  she  could  rightfully  call 
her  own  in  personal  effects.  The  load  was  not 
heavy  and  she  scarcely  noticed  it  as  she  walked 
rapidly  through  the  maple  thicket  which  divided  her 
father's  garden-place  and  the  Long  Meadow. 

She  felt  like  an  exile,  indeed.  A  friendless  creature 
who  had  no  real  hold  upon  any  one. 

She  thought  of  Gaston — but  he  no  longer  suggested 
safety  to  her.  She  thought  of  Lauzoon,  and  a  wave 
of  fear  and  repulsion  swept  over  her.  She  knew  she 
was  driven  to  him.  She  knew  she  must  accept  what- 
ever fate  he  offered,  but  with  the  remnant  of  her 
intuitive  belief  in  her  personal  charm  and  beauty,  she 
paused  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  to  plan  some  sort 
of  attitude  that  would  secure  Jude's  admiration  as 
well  as  his  protection.  She  must  not  call  upon  him 
in  a  moment  of  weakness  and  defeat.  That  would 
•-  putting  a  weapon  in  his  hand  that  no  St.  Ange 
man  could  be  trusted  to  wield  mercifully. 

She  must  hide  all  traces  of  outraged  feeling;  she 
must  find  a  vantage  point  from  which  Jude  might 

6s 


66         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

take  her.  He  must  come  to  her;  she  must  not  go  to 
him.  Thus  she  pondered.  For  one  wild  instant  she 
turned  her  face  toward  Hillcrest.  There  were  those 
over  the  hill  who  might  give  her  work  —  what  work  ? 
What  could  she  do  ?  But  granting  that  she  obtained 
work,  how  long  could  she  retain  a  position,  with 
her  father  and  Jude  in  pursuit  ?  No;  she  was  a 
product  of  St.  Ange  and  had  all  the  faltering  dis- 
trust of  other  environments  common  to  the  shrinking 
childhood  of  the  poor  village. 

Down  beside  the  last  tree  of  the  thicket  the  girl 
crouched  with  her  shabby  basket  beside  her. 

The  elemental  woman  in  her  saw,  as  clearly  as 
any  cultivated  sister  might  have  seen,  that  if  she 
hoped  for  success  in  her  married  life,  she  must  not 
throw  herself  upon  Jude  crushed  and  downed.  A 
brave  front  must  be  the  breastwork  behind  which 
she  was  to  fight. 

When  she  had  told  her  father  she  was  going  to 
Isa  Tate,  she  had  spoken  wildly;  but  the  inevitable 
closed  upon  her.  Every  one  went  to  Leon  Tate  in 
trouble.  Leon,  like  the  old  gods,  first  made  mad 
whom  he  wished  to  destroy;  for  the  trust  that  all  St. 
Ange  put  in  Leon's  bland  generosity  was  nothing 
short  of  madness.  When  any  difficulty  arose,  private 
or  public,  it  was  carried  to  the  Black  Cat  for  adjust- 
ment and  final  settlement.  By  putting  every  individ- 
ual under  deep  obligation  to  him,  Leon  controlled 
money,  loyalty  and  obedience.  Every  man  in  St. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          67 

Ange  was  in  his  debt,  and  every  woman  had  accepted, 
in  some  form  or  other,  his  wife's  services.  The 
difference  between  Isa  and  her  husband  was,  how- 
ever, vital.  Tate  was  a  friend  to  man  in  order  that 
he  might  draw  his  victims  into  his  net.  Isa  had  a 
woman's  soul  hidden  under  her  rough  exterior  and, 
while  she  played  the  part  assigned  her  by  her  dip- 
lomatic lord,  she  found  comfort  for  her  own  lonely 
nature  in  giving  comfort. 

Joyce,  in  going  to  Isa  for  protection,  would  in 
no  wise  interfere  with  her  father's  welcome  at  the 
tavern.  Leon  would  arrange  that,  and  bring 
about  a  brilliant  climax  for  himself;  at  least  he  always 
had  done  so  in  emergencies. 

Crouching  under  the  tree,  as  the  sun  went  down 
behind  Beacon  Hill,  Joyce  saw  the  future  unfold 
itself.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  to  Isa. 
Then  Leon  would,  by  his  subtlety,  make  it  seem  that 
she  had  come  there  to  get  ready  for  her  marriage  to 
Jude.  He'd  even  arrange,  perhaps,  the  marriage, 
and  so  clutch  Jude  and  her  closer  to  his  power. 
He'd  smooth  the  way  for  her  father,  too,  and  hush 
tongues  and  smile  —  oh,  how  he  would  smile  on 
them  all !  —  and  no  one  would  ever  know. 

The  sun  went  down  and  the  stars  came  out. 
Still  the  girl  sat  there;  but  presently  a  healthy 
appetite  was  the  call  that  roused  her.  She  had  not 
eaten  since  noon  of  the  day  before.  She  was  weak 
and  suffering.  She  thought  with  a  kind  of  comfort 


68         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

that  perhaps  it  was  hunger  alone  that  was  now 
causing  her  mental  and  physical  agony.  After  she 
had  eaten,  all  would  be  well  with  her.  She  could 
control  Jude  and  her  own  fate.  She  would  never 
let  any  one  think  —  Gaston  above  all  —  that  she 
was  not  mistress  of  her  own  shabby  little  life. 

She  got  up  dizzily,  and  was  shocked  to  find  how 
heavy  the  basket  was;  still,  with  a  constant  shifting 
from  hand  to  hand,  she  could  manage  it. 

Lola's  giddy  little  lark  song  sprang  to  memory 
out  of  the  ashes  of  her  hurt  and  pain,  and  rose  and 
rippled  in  the  fragrant  darkness  as  she  entered  the 
Long  Meadow. 

Beacon  Hill  stood  gloomily  to  the  west,  and  above 
it  gleamed  a  particularly  bright  star.  Across  Long 
Meadow  the  lights  in  the  houses  flickered  from  open 
windows,  and  the  Black  Cat's  glare  seemed  to  control 
her  motions.  It  drew  her  on  and  on.  It  was  to 
play  a  part  in  her  future  as  it  did  in  the  futures  of  all 
—  sooner  or  later. 

Wearily  she  mounted  the  steps  of  the  tavern  and 
went  to  the  side  door  that  opened  into  whatever 
there  was  of  privacy  in  Leon's  establishment.  Isa 
was  washing  the  supper  dishes.  She  was  a  tall, 
gaunt  woman  with  a  kindly  glance  that  Nature 
had,  for  a  safeguard,  hidden  under  heavy  black 
brows. 

"You,  Joyce?"  she  said,  going  on  with  her  task. 
"I  thought  maybe  it  was  some  one  else." 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          69 

"Isa,"  the  girl  stepped  cautiously  forward,  "I 
want  to  tell  you  something." 

The  gathering  hilarity  in  the  tavern  made  this 
moment  secure.  Isa  put  down  her  dish  and  faced 
the  girl. 

"What?"  she  asked  bluntly. 

Quickly,  breathlessly  the  truth,  with  all  its  hideous 
colouring,  truth  bald,  and  yet  with  a  saving  clause 
for  Gaston,  was  whispered  in  Isa's  ear. 

When  the  parting  with  Jared  was  confided,  the 
woman  put  her  arms  about  the  girl. 

"Now  you  hush,  Joyce,  I've  heard  enough. 
This  is  a  man's  world,  God  help  us!  Us  women, 
when  we  can,  must  cling  together.  Me  and  Tate 
pull  in  harness  because  we  find  it  pays  —  we'll 
help  you  out  —  Tate  in  bis  way,  me  in  mine,  but, 
Lord  a-mighty,  don't  I  hope  there'll  be  a  heaven  just 
for  women,  some  day! 

"Sit  down,  you  poor,  little  haggled  thing,  I  don't 
believe  you've  eat  a  morsel.  You  look  fagged  out. 
They  ain't  worth  it,  Joyce,  men  ain't.  Father, 
husband  —  not  one  of  them.  But  since  we've  got 
to  use  them,  we  must  make  out  some  kind  of  game. 
Here!" 

She  set  food  before  the  wan  girl,  and  the  readjust- 
ment of  life,  in  her  masterful  hands,  seemed  already 
begun. 

It  was  comparatively  easy,  later  on,  to  go  into 
particulars  with  Isa.  With  the  roar  and  clatter 


70         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

growing  hourly  more  deafening  in  the  tavern,  Isa 
and  Joyce,  sitting  on  the  back  porch  under  the  calm 
stars,  spoke  freely  to  each  other, 

Isa,  like  a  dutiful  wife,  had,  while  Joyce  satisfied 
her  hunger,  confided  as  much  of  the  girl's  trouble 
to  Leon  as  she  thought  advisable.  Leon  had 
recognized  the  opportunity  as  one  by  which  to  cap- 
ture what  was  left  of  Jared's  independence,  and 
rose  to  the  emergency. 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  he  said.     "Everything  will  be 
blooming  to-morrow  like  —  like  a  —  garden  —  er  - 
Eden." 

So  now  Isa  had  only  Joyce's  sore  little  heart  to 
deal  with. 

"Come,  girl,'*  she  began  at  last;  "tears  never  yet 
unsnarled  a  knot.  Be  you,  or  be  you  not,  going 
to  marry  Jude  ?" 

"Yes — I  am."  There  must  be  no  doubt  upon  that 
score  and  Joyce  sat  up  stiffly  and  faced  her  helper. 

"Well,  then,  look  at  the  thing  sensible.  In  a  place 
like  St.  Ange,  where  there  ain't  women  to  spare, 
you  either  got  to  be  a  decent  married  woman  or  you 
ain't.  Long  as  I've  lived  in  St.  Ange,  and  that's 
been  more'n  twenty  years,  I  ain't  never  yet  seen  a 
comfortable,  respectable,  satisfied,  old  maid  —  they 
ain't  permitted  here,  and  you  know  it.  In  season, 
of  course,  you'd  marry  —  that's  to  be  looked  for.  It 
chances  to  be  Jude  —  and  after  you  get  over  the 
strangeness,  he'll  do  as  well  as  any  other.  They 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         71 

are  all  powerfully  alike  when  they  have  their  senses. 
The  sameness  lies  in  their  having  their  faculties. 
The  only  man  as  was  ever  different  in  St.  Ange  was 
Timothy  Drake.  He  got  smashed  on  the  head  by 
a  falling  tree  up  to  Camp  3,  and  his  wits  was  crushed 
out  of  him.  But  do  you  know,  what  was  left  of 
Tim  was  as  gentle  and  decent  and  perticerlar  as 
you'd  want  to  find  in  any  human.  He  never  drank 
again,  never  cussed  nor  stormed,  and  I've  laid  it 
by  as  an  item,  that  the  badness  and  sameness  of 
men  lies  in  their  wits  —  if  you  want  a  companionable, 
safe  man,  you've  got  to  turn  to  sich  as  are  bereft 
of  their  senses  —  and  most  women  is  that  foolhardy 
they  prefer  wits  and  diviltry,  to  senselessness  and 
decency." 

Joyce  smiled  feebly  at  this  philosophy. 

"You  are  the  one  to  decide,"  Isa  went  on.  "Now 
see  here,  girl,  I  ain't  lived  fifty  years  for  nothing. 
I  ain't  been  in  and  out  of  my  neighbour's  houses,  in 
times  when  all  the  closets  are  open,  without  learning 
a  heap  about  things.  Men  is  men  and  there's  no 
getting  around  that.  So  long  as  you  can,  you  better 
let  them  think  they  amounts  to  something  even  when 
you  own  to  yourself  they  don't.  Private  opinions 
am't  going  to  bring  on  trouble;  it's  only  when  they 
ain't  private.  Now  granting  that  man  is  what  we 
know  he  is  —  it's  plain  common  sense  to  get  as 
much  out  of  him  as  you  can.  Make  the  place  you 
live  in  the  best  thing  he's  got;  and  just  so  long  as  you 


72         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

can,  keep  yourself  a  little  bit  out  of  his  reach  -^ 
tantalize  him.  There  ain't  nothing  so  diverting 
to  a  man  as  to  claw  after  a  woman,  when  he's  got 
the  belief  in  himself  that  when  he  wants  to  clutch 
her,  he  can. 

"I  know  the  kind  of  naked  feeling  you've  got  when 
you  sense  your  power  with  men  first;  but  that  wears 
off  when  you  get  your  bearings  and  find  out  that  it's 
only  a  shuffle  in  the  game,  anyway.  Land  of  love! 
if  man  and  woman  was  #//,  then  when  they  came 
face  to  face  with  life  they  would  get  smashed;  but 
housework  tempers  the  matter  powerfully;  and  man's 
work  out  among  other  men;  and  then  when  children 
come  and  you  have  to  contrive  and  pinch,  why  you 
just  plod  along  and  don't  ever  get  flustered.  It's 
just  the  first  dash  of  cold  water  in  the  face,  child; 
after  that  all  lives  is  pretty  much  the  same." 

Joyce  had  grown  quieter  as  Isa's  words  droned  on. 
It  was,  for  all  her  commotion,  a  very  humdrum 
thing  that  had  happened  to  her. 

*  As  it  was  she,  Joyce,  was  going  to  be  very  respect- 
able. She'd  manage,  and  Jude  would  always  find 
her  worth  his  while  to  be  decent  for.  She  would 
wrench  what  she  could  from  him  and  St.  Ange  and 
be  a  commonplace  married  woman. 

Now  that  all  the  fuss  and  fury  were  over,  it 
seemed  quite  a  silly  exhibition  she  had  made  of 
herself.  She  almost  wished  that  she  had  stayed  at 
home. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         73 

"The  little  loft  room  is  yours,  Joyce,  for  as  long 
as  you  want  it,"  Isa  was  saying,  through  the 
sobering  silence.  "I  ain't  going  to  side  with  Jared 
Birkdale  when  a  woman's  sense  of  right  has  been 
roused.  Jared's  wits  are  the  keenest  and  the  crudest 
round  here,  and  the  poison  in  his  tongue  is  the 
deadliest;  I  guess  /  know.  Are  you  coming  in,  child  ? 
The  bed's  made,  but  you  best  carry  a  pitcher  of 
fresh  water  up  with  you." 

"I'll  be  there  in  a  minute,  Isa,  and  the  cracked 
pitcher's  by  the  well,  isn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  Isa  replied;  "and  I'll  leave  a  lighted  candle 
for  you,  the  ile  is  pretty  low  in  the  lamp.  Good 
night,  child,  and  don't  fuss.  I  never  saw  fussing 
hurt  any  one  but  the  fusser." 

Joyce  rose  stiffly  and  stood  by  the  open  door. 
She  stretched  her  limbs  and  winced  at  the  pain  in 
them.  Then  she  clasped  her  aching  hands  above 
her  head  and  permitted  her  tired  spirit  one  long, 
heavy  sigh. 

She  stood  for  some  time  in  that  relieved  state. 
The  chill  of  the  deepening  night  soothed  her,  and  the 
late  new  moon  looked  down  through  the  pines  at' 
her  —  then  she  turned  sharply.     Some  one  was  near! 

Her  startled  glance  fell  upon  Jude  LauzooiL 
He  was  crouching  upon  the  step  of  the  porch. 

"I  thought  you  was  sleeping,  standing  up,"  he 
whispered  hoarsely.  "I  didn't  want  to  scare  you 


none." 


74          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Why  are  you  here?"  Joyce's  heart  fluttered. 
Had  he  heard  all  ? 

"Why  are  you  ?"  Jude  turned  the  tables. 

"  Where  else  should  I  be  —  to  —  to  -  "  she  looked 
at  him  appealingly,  "to  get  ready  to  be  married  ?" 

yude  was  master  of  the  situation  in  a  way  Joyce 
did  not  know.  He  could  afford  to  be  condescend- 
ingly gracious.  He,  of  all  who  had  taken  part  in 
this  poor  little  drama,  now  held  the  centre  of  the 
stage,  and  the  knowledge  gave  him  a  certain 
manliness  highly  becoming. 

"Stay  here  until  we  get  married  — is  that  it?" 

Joyce  nodded. 

Jude  felt  a  pity  for  her  that  would  have  been 
contempt  had  not  her  beauty  and  charm  mastered 
him.  He  was  going  to  clutch  her  once  and  for  all, 
but  he  was  willing  to  let  her  see  that  he  only  meant, 
since  he  must  have  her,  to  clutch  close  enough  to 
bind  her  to  him.  He  was  not  going  to  strangle  her: 
he  meant  only  to  stifle  her.  Jude  was  cool  now,  and 
alert. 

"I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,  Joyce,  and  it 
better  be  said  and  done  with.  I  slept  on  it  last  night 
and  most  of  to-day.  I  went  to  your  father's  this 
evening  to  have  it  out,  but  you  wasn't  there.  I  met 
Jock  Filmer  in  the  Long  Medder  and  he  told  me 
where  you  was,  and  why.  Your  father  had  aired 
his  affair  in  the  tavern."  * 

Joyce  clasped  her  cold  fingers  nervously.     There 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         75 

was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  wait  Jude's  pleasure. 
Leon  had  not  been  able  to  overpower  Jared's 
personality  evidently. 

"  I  saw  you  go  to  Mr.  Gaston's  shack  night  before 
last!  I'd  been  there  before  you,  and  I  was  lying 
off  in  the  pine  grove  when  you  came  a-visiting." 

The  widening  eyes  of  the  listener  were  the  only 
sign  that  this  information  was  startling, 

"Do  you  know,"  Jude  gave  a  chuckle,  "up  to 
that  minute  when  I  saw  you  a-knocking,  and  him 
taking  no  heed,  I  had  thought  'twas  him  as  had  been 
shining  up  to  you.  I  was  actually  hard  agin  him, 
and  once  went  so  far  as  to  go  up  there  with  my  gun !" 
Joyce  shivered.  "  Yes,  by  gosh !  with  my  gun. 
Just  suppose  I'd  killed  him,  and  him  not  to  blame 
either  ? 

"Now  there  be  some  men,  Joyce,  that  wouldn't 
have  you  after  knowing  what  I  know,  but  I  ain't 
one  as  goes  off  the  handle  without  looking  on  both 
sides.  Since  I  know  he's  all  right,  I  can  manage 
you  proper  enough  —  and  I  own  up  to  wanting  you, 
and  I'm  willing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones,  only  — • 
and  you  might  as  well  know  this  —  once  I've  had 
my  eyes  open,  I  ain't  going  to  shut  them  again. 
I'll  always  be  within  call  if  you  should  forget  yourself, 
and  take  to  attracting  Mr.  Gaston's  attention.  He's 
my  friend  now,  by  gosh !  He's  going  to  stand  by  me. 
He's  the  real  stuff  and  shows  up  to  me  in  the  finest 
colours,  never  once  hinting  that  your  seeking  him 


76         JOYCE  <JF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

had  made  you  cheap.  He's  a  bigger  feller  than  1 
ever  thought,  and  I  ain't  going  to  have  no  foolishness. 
You  understand  ?" 

"Yes;  oh,  yes;  I  understand!"  Again  the  shiver- 
ing seized  Joyce. 

"I  should  think  to  have  a  man  turn  a  deaf  ear  to 
•you  like  that,  would  end  any  nonsense  without  more 
fuss." 

"  It  —  it  will/'    The  low  voice  shook. 

"  But  you  see,  protecting  a  young  girl  agin  herself 
is  one  thing.  He  might  feel  different  if  a  married 
woman  wanted  to  turn  fool.  Now,  Joyce,  I  ain't 
ever  going  to  say  anything  more  about  this,  'less 
it's  necessary.  I  know  you're  pretty  and  maybe 
a  bit  more  flighty  along  of  that,  but  being  married 
and  having  your  own  work,  may  tone  you  down. 
If  you'll  stick  by  me,  I'll  stick  by  you;  and  in  time 
Mr.  Gaston  can  be  a  friend  to  both  of  us  and  no 
harm  done.  You  understand,  don't  you  ?  I  ain't 
hard,  I'm  only  letting  light  in  on  the  whole  thing." 

"I  — I  understand,  Jude." 

"And  now,  as  to  marrying.  Mr.  Gaston  is  going 
to  lend  me  money,  and  I'm  going  to  put  up  an 
addition  to  my  shack,  and  get  some  fixings  over  to 
Hillcrest.  If  you  want,  we'll  get  married  over  there 
and  rough  it  together  before  the  buildin's  done." 

"I — I'd  rather  wait,  Jude  if  you're  willing.  I 
want  to  get  some  —  some  things."  Joyce's  teeth 
were  chattering.  "  But  if  a  minister  should  happen 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         77 

in  St.  Ange  in  the  meanwhile,  I'd  —  I'd  marry  you.** 
This  seemed  a  reasonable  request  —  "I  don't  like 
the  minister  over  at  Hillcrest,  he's  so  fearful  in  his 
sermons,  he  makes  me  afraid." 

"Well,"  Jude  rose,  "when  the  house  gets  along, 
we'll  see.  Things  are  tight  and  trim  now.  Good 
night!  Go  to  bed  —  and  forget  it." 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  bent  and 
kissed  the  cold,  upturned  face.  Then  he  laughed; 
for  he  had  got  what  he  wanted,  and  she  was  very 
sweet  and  pretty. 

"  Go  to  bed  now  —  trot  on !" 

Joyce  staggered  indoors  and  hurriedly  bolted  the 
door  behind  her.  She  took  the  spluttering  candle 
and  mounted  the  steep  stairs.  Once  alone  in  the 
small  stifling  room,  she  gasped,  and  put  her  hands 
to  her  throat  as  if  to  remove  a  pressure  that  was  there. 

Presently  she  blew  out  the  light,  set  the  shutters 
wide  to  the  pale  moonlight,  and  undressed  herself 
quifctly  and  methodically. 

Already  she  seemed  used  to  her  lot.  It  was 
very  ordinary,  tame  and  familiar. 

She  had  received  the  first  dash  of  cold  water  in 
the  face,  and  had  accepted  the  new  situation. 

There  was  no  longer  even  the  excitement  of 
trying  to  dangle  a  little  above  Jude.  He  had  her 
close  in  his  grip.  She  must  accept  whatever  he 
doled  out  to  her  —  and  that  was  the  fate  of  all 
respectable  married  women  in  St.  Ange. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    late   September   afternoon  held    almost 
summer  heat  as  it  flooded   St.  Ange.     The 
breeze    gave  a   promise   of   crispness  as  it 
passed  fitfully  through  the  pines;  but  on  the  whole 
a  calmness  and  silence  pervaded  space  which  gave 
the  impression  of  a  summer  Sunday  when  a  passing 
minister  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  "stop  over." 

However,  it  was  not  a  summer  Sunday,  as  St. 
Ange  well  enough  knew,  for  every  able-bodied  man 
in  the  place  had  that  day  signed  a  contract  with  the 
Boss  of  Camp  7  for  the  lumber  season;  and  the  St. 
Angeans  never  signed  contracts  on  Sunday. 

The  calmness  was  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that 
Joyce  Birkdale  was  to  be  married.  The  circum- 
stances leading  up  to  this  event  had  been  sufficiently 
interesting  to  demand  sobriety.  St.  Ange  did  not 
believe  in  putting  on  airs,  but  it  had  its  own  ideas 
of  decorum;  things  had  sort  of  dovetailed  lately,  and, 
according  to  Leon  Tate,  "it  was  up  to  them  to  spread 
eagle  and  plant  their  banner  for  knowing  a  good 
thing  from  a  rotten  egg." 

Leon  was  above  consistent  figures  of  speech. 
He  had  power  of  his  own  that  controlled  even 
language. 

78 


ONCE  I  WENT  SO  FAR  AS  TO  GO  UP  THERE  WITH  MY  GUN' 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH   WOODS          79 

After  Jared  Birkdale  had  defied  Leon  in  his  own 
stronghold,  and,  instead  of  agreeing  with  Tate  that 
Joyce  had  come  to  Isa  as  to  a  mother,  had  insisted 
upon  bare,  unglorified  fact,  he  had  betaken  himself 
into  oblivion.  Tate  was  confronted  with  the  pre- 
dicament of  having  a  helpless  girl  on  his  hands  to 
do  for  —  unless  another  man  was  forthcoming. 

Jude  rose  to  the  occasion.  He  confided  to  Jock 
Filmer  his  desire  for  immediate  marriage,  and  good- 
natured  Jock,  his  system  permeated  by  gossip, 
consented  to  send  down  to  the  Junction — since  Joyce 
objected  to  the  hell-fire  minister  at  Hillcrest  —  and 
bring  a  harmless  wayfarer  of  the  cloth,  who  Murphy, 
the  engineer  of  the  daily  branch  train,  had  said, 
was  summering  there. 

"He's  a  lean,  blighted  cuss,"  Murphy  had 
explained;  "what  God  intended  for  an  engineer, 
but  Nature  stepped  in  and  flambasted  his  constitoo- 
tion,  and  so  he  took  to  preaching  —  that  not  demand- 
ing no  bodily  strength. 

"He  comes  pottering  round  the  engine,  using  the 
excuse  of  saving  my  soul,  and  I  don't  let  on  that  I  see 
through  him.  I  give  him  pints  about  the  machinery; 
and  if  I  tell  him  he  can  ride  in  the  cab  with  me 
anywhere,  he'd  marry  a  girl,  or  bury  a  tramp,  if  he 
had  to  go  to  hell  to  do  it." 

So  Jock  detailed  Murphy  to  decoy  the  side- 
tracked gentleman  at  the  Junction  up  to  St.  Ange. 

The  stranger  was  expected  on  the  afternoon  train, 


8o         JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

and  Tate  had  the  guest  room  of  the  Black  Cat  in 
readiness. 

Jock  had  lazed  about  the  Station  since  noon.  The 
wedding  preparations  bored  him,  and  the  train's 
delay  angered  him. 

"See  here!"  he  exploded  to  Tom  Smith,  the  agent, 
"ain't  it  stretching  a  point  too  far  when  that  gol- 
durned  train  gives  herself  four  hours'  lee-way?" 

Tom  spat  with  dignity,  and  remarked  casually: 

"Long  as  she  ain't  likely  to  meet  any  train  going 
down,  seems  to  me  there  ain't  any  use  to  git  warmer 
than  is  necessary." 

"If  she  keeps  on,"  drawled  Jock,  "she'll  have  a 
head-on  collision  with  herself  some  day.  Is  that  the 
dying  shriek  of  the  blasted  hussy?" 

Tom  stopped  the  imminent  expectoration. 

"It  be,"  he  announced,  and  went  out  on  the  track 
to  welcome  the  guest. 

"She  do  look,"  he  contemplatively  remarked, 
"like  she  had  an  all-fired  jag  on." 

The  train  came  in  sight,  swaying  unsteadily  on  its 
rickety  tracks.  Puffing,  panting  and  hissing,  it 
reached  the  platform  and  stopped  jerkily. 

Murphy  sprang  from  the  engine;  the  conductor 
strode  with  dignity  worthy  a  Pullman  official,  to  the 
one  passenger  coach  behind  the  baggage  car,  and 
assisted  a  very  young  and  very  sickly  man  to  alight. 

Tom  Smith,  with  energy  concentrated  on  this  single 
activity  of  the  twenty-four  hours,  began  hurling 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         81 

mail-bag  and  boxes  about  with  the  abandon  that 
marks  the  man  whom  Nature  has  fitted  to  his  legiti- 
mate calling. 

Filmer  eyed  the  passenger  with  disapproving 
interest;  Murphy,  after  looking  at  some  part  of  the 
machinery,  lolled  up  to  Jock. 

"Is  that  it?"  Filmer  nodded  toward  the  stranger, 
who  sat  exhaustedly  upon  a  cracker-box,  destined 
for  the  Black  Cat,  with  his  suit-case  at  his  feet. 

"It  ain't,  then,"  Murphy  returned.  "  It  got  on  the 
Branch  'stead  of  the  Mountain  Special,  by  mistake. 
It's  a  lunger  bound  for  the  lakes,  and  some  one  gave 
him  a  twist  as  to  the  track  an'  we  caught  'im.  But 
shure,  the  rale  thing,  the  parson,  when  I  was  after 
tellin'  'im  of  the  job  what  was  at  this  end  of  the 
game,  he  up  and  balked  —  divil  take  'im!  —  an'  said 
he  wasn't  goin'  to  tie  for  time  and  eternity,  two 
unknown  quantities.  What  do  ye  think  of  that  ?" 

Jock  thought  hotly  of  it,  and  expressed  his  thought 
so  fervidly  that  the  boy  on  the  cracker-box  gave 
attention. 

"Say,"  Murphy  continued,  "give  it  straight, 
Filmer;  does  it  be  after  meanin'  life  or  death  for 
Birkdale's  girl  ?  What's  the  almighty  hurry,  any- 
way?" 

He  leered  unpleasantly.  Jock  squared  himself, 
and  faced  the  engineer. 

"Come  off  with  that  guff!"  he  drawled.  "What 
hurry  there  be  is  my  hurry,  you  blamed  idiot!  And 


82          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

my  reasons  are  my  own,  confound  you!  I've  set 
my  mind  on  having  that  affair  come  off  to-morrow, 
gol  durn  it,  and  I'm  going  to  have  a  parson  if  I  have 
to  dangle  down  to  the  Junction  on  that  old  machine 
of  yours,  myself." 

A  few  added  words  of  luridly  picturesque  intent 
gave  force  and  colour  to  this  declaration. 

The  stranger  on  the  cracker-box  rose  weakly  and 
drew  near. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  began,  in  a  voice  of  peculiar 
sweetness  and  earnestness,  "I  wonder  if  I  can  be  of 
any  service?  I  am  a  minister!" 

Filmer  reeled  before  this  announcement,  took  the 
stranger  in  from  head  to  foot,  then  remarked  in  ?.n 
awed  tone: 

"The  hell  you  are!" 

"I  am.     My  name's  Drew,  Ralph  Drew." 

Murphy  beat  a  rapid  retreat.  The  scene  was  too 
much  for  him.  Filmer,  in  doubt  as  to  whether  this 
was  a  joke  or  not,  stood  his  ground. 

The  young  fellow  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"I  know  what  you  think,"  he  said,  and  coughed 
sharply;  "I  got  my  credentials  all  right.  I  nearly 
finished  myself  in  getting  them,  but  they're  all  right. 
Graduated  last  June,  went  under  soon  after,  got  on 
my  feet  two  weeks  ago,  and  am  making  for  Green 
Lake.  I  got  side-tracked  at  the  Junction  through 
my  own  stupidity,  and  landed  here.  Perhaps  you 
can  direct  me  to  a  quiet  place  for  the  night,  and  I'll 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         83 

be  glad  to  help  you  out  in  any  way  along  my  line,  if 
I  can." 

This  lengthy  explanation  was  interrupted  by  short, 
hacking  coughs,  and  Filmer's  eyes  never  dropped 
from  the  eager  boyish  face  through  it  all. 

Presently  he  leaned  down  and  took  the  dress-suit 
case  from  the  other's  hand. 

"Drop  that,"  he  drawled,  "and  you  follow  me. 
There's  the  Black  Cat  Tavern,  but  I  guess  that  ain't 
your  kind.  Do  you  think  you  can  make  my  shack  ? 
It's  a  half-mile,  and  pretty  uppish  grade." 

The  boy  began  to  thank  Filmer. 

"Hold  on!"  Jock  commanded.  "Keep  your 
wind  for  the  climb,  and  stop  gassing." 

The  two  started  on,  and  the  climb  was  a  silent  one. 
Filmer  appreciatively  strode  ahead,  speechless. 
Drew,  panting,  accepted  the  situation  gratefully, 
and  made  the  most  of  his  position  and  his  leader's 
silence. 

Filmer's  shack  was  a  lonely  place,  standing  on  a 
little  pine-clad  knoll  facing  the  west.  It  had  four 
small  rooms,  a  broad  piazza,  and  a  thrifty  garden  at 
the  rear. 

The  room  assigned  to  Drew  had  a  cot-bed  and 
rough,  home-made  toilet  accommodations  that  sug- 
gested comfort  and  a  sense  of  refinement.  When 
Filmer  made  him  welcome  to  it,  he  said  quietly:  "  Now 
kid,  you  make  yourself  trim  and  dandy.  Come  out 
on  trie  piazza  when  you  get  good  and  ready,  and 


84         JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

we'll  have  supper  out  there  later."  It  was  evident 
that  Jock's  sympathies  had  been  touched. 

Once  alone,  Drew  sank  upon  the  low  bed,  and 
permitted  the  waves  of  weakness  and  weariness  to 
engulf  him. 

The  young  face  grew  pinched  and  blue,  a  faintness 
rose  and  conquered  him.  The  eyes  closed,  and  the 
breath  almost  stopped.  But  it  was  only  momentary, 
and  with  returning  consciousness  came  renewed 
hope  and  sudden  strength. 

From  the  broad  open  window  the  boy  could  see 
the  western  hills,  already  gay  with  glistening  autumn 
colour,  shining  under  the  glowing  sunset  sky.  The  tall 
pointed  pines,  standing  here  and  there  in  clumps, 
rose  sharply  dark  in  the  early  gloaming  of  the  valley. 

"It's  my  chance,"  thought  the  boy,  his  eyes 
widening  with  enjoyment  of  the  beauty;  "and,  by 
Jove,  I  believe  I've  caught  on ! " 

He  got  to  his  feet.  The  giddiness  was  gone.  He 
flung  off  his  dust-stained  garments,  as  if  they  held 
all  of  his  past  weakness  and  misery.  He  plunged 
his  head  into  the  clear,  cold  water  in  the  big  basin 
on  the  pine  table;  when  he  emerged,  colour  had 
mounted  to  his  pale  face,  and  depression  was  a 
thing  of  the  past. 

"Hang  it!"  he  exclaimed,  rubbing  his  face  and 
head  with  the  rough  towel  that  he  took  from  the  back 
of  a  chair;  "this  is  good  enough  for  me.  No  Green 
Lake  in  mine!  I'll  send  for  my  trunk"  -  he  had 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         85 

begun  to  whistle  in  the  pauses  of  his  thought  — 
"and  put  up  my  fight  right  here.  Filmer's  good 
stuff;  and  there's  a  job  ready-made  for  me,  I  bet! 
This  is  where  I  was  sent,  and  no  mistake.  What's 
that?" 

It  was  the  odours  of  supper,  and  Drew  stood  still, 
inhaled  the  fragrance  and  grinned  broadly. 

"Gee  whiz!"  he  cried;  "I'm  as  hungry  as  a  ditch 
digger."  He  dashed  over  to  his  suit-case,  opened 
it  and  pulled  out  the  contents.  A  pair  of  flannel 
trousers,  a  heavy  flannel  shirt  and  thick  shoes  were 
selected,  and  soon  Drew,  radiant  and  revived,  went 
forth  from  the  disorder  he  had  created,  eager  for 
the  meal  that  he  heard  Filmer  placing  on  the  piazza 
table. 

Drew  was  to  eat  many  of  Filmer's  meals  in  the 
future;  he  was  to  learn  that  Jock  was  a  master-hand 
at  cooking,  but  he  was  never  again  to  know  just  the 
positive  joy  that  he  felt  during  that  first  meal;  for 
he  brought  to  it  an  appetite  made  keen  by  the  hope 
of  recovered  health  —  the  health  he  had  squandered 
so  foolishly,  poor  fellow,  while  he  was  making  for 
his  goal  at  college. 

At  last  he  tilted  his  chair  back  and  laughed. 

"I  haven't  eaten  like  that,"  he  said,  "nor  with 
such  enjoyment,  since  I  went  tramping  up  in  the 
Maine  woods  when  I  was  a  youngster." 

Filmer  was  removing  the  empty  dishes.  There 
was  a  sense  of  delicacy  about  his  host  that  was 


86         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

compelling  Drew's  notice.  He  watched  him  passing 
from  kitchen  to  piazza,  and  he  saw  that  he  was  big, 
strong  and  handsome,  but  with  a  certain  weakness 
of  chin,  and  a  shyness  of  expression  that  came  and 
went,  marring  the  general  impression. 

Filmer's  shyness  was  increasing.  Never  before 
in  his  life  had  he  been  brought  into  close  personal 
contact  with  "the  cloth"  as  he  termed  it,  and  even 
this  "  swaddling  garment"  was  having  a  slow-growing 
hold  upon  him. 

Presently  Jock  came  timidly  out,  after  his  last 
visit  to  the  kitchen,  with  pipes  and  a  tobacco-box. 

"I'm  not  certain,"  he  began,  "how  your,  kind 
takes  to  tobacco,  but  if  I  don't  get  my  evening  smoke, 
I  get  a  bad  spell  of  temper  —  so,  if  you  don't  object 
-  I'll  light  up." 

"If  you'll  wait  a  moment,"  Drew  returned,  "I'll 
join  you.  I  always  smoke  my  own  pipe  —  I've 
got  sort  of  chummy  with  it  —  but  I'll  share  your 
tobacco." 

Filmer  grinned,  and  the  cloud  passed  from  his  face. 

"I  calculated,"  he  said,  "that  your  kind  classed 
tobacco  with  cussing  and  jags.  Light  up,  kid." 

They  were  soon  lost  in  the  fragrant  smoke,  the 
bliss  of  satisfied  appetite,  and  a  peaceful  scene.  The 
sun  went  down,  and  left  the  hills  and  valley  in  an 
afterglow  of  glory.  The  beauty  was  so  touching  that 
even  Filmer  succumbed,  shook  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  and  delayed  refilling.  Presently  he  looked  at 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         87 

Drew's  face.  It  had  paled  from  emotion,  and  shone 
white  in  the  shadow  of  the  por^- 

"You  look  peaked."  Filmer'L  /ifords  brought  the 
boy  back  to  earth.  "Been  through  a  long  siege, 
maybe  ? " 

"Oh,  overstudy  and  weak  lungs!"  Drew  spoke 
cheerfully.  "Bad  combination,  you  know,  and  I 
didn't  pull  in  as  soon  as  I  should  have.  I  crammed 
for  exams.  Made  them,  and  then  collapsed.  I'm 
all  right  now,  though.  All  the  struggle's  over. 
I've  only  to  reap  the  reward.  There  was  a  big 
doctor  down  in  New  York  who  told  me  that  the  air 
up  here  was  my  one  chance.  I'm  going  to  take  it. 
A  few  months  here,  and  a  life  anywhere  else  I 
may  choose,  he  said. 

"What  do  you  say  to  letting  me  have  your  room 
and  company  —  you  needn't  give  any  more  of  the 
latter  than  you  want  to,  you  know  —  for  a  spell  ? 
You'll  find  me  easy  to  get  on  with,  I  fancy,  no  one 
has  ever  complained  of  me  in  that  way.  I  don't 
care  what  Green  Lake  is  like,  I  like  this  better. 
I  like  this,  way  down  to  the  ground.  I've  gone 
daffy  over  the  whole  thing."  He  drew  in  a  long, 
happy  breath.  "What  do  you  say?" 

"  I'd  like  to  ask,  if  it  ain't  too  inquisitive,"  Jock 
inquired,  ignoring  the  boy's  eagerness,  while  he  put 
forth  his  own  claims,  "why  in  thunder  a  chap  like 
you  took  to  the  preaching  business  ?  Somehow  you 
look  like  a  feller  that  might  want  to  enjoy  life." 


88         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Drew  laughed  heartily. 

"Why,  I  mean  to  enjoy  life,"  he  replied,  "and  I 
chose  this  profession  because  I  like  it.  I  believe 
in  it.  You  see,  I  was  born  to  be  a  fighter.  If  I'd 
had  a  big,  lusty  body  like  yours,  I  might  have  been  - 
anything.  As  it  is,  I  had  to  choose  something  where 
I  could  fight  with  other  weapons  than  bone,  muscle 
and  bodily  endurance.  I'm  going  into  the  fight  of 
helping  men  and  women  in  the  best  way  I  can, 
don't  you  see  ?  I  suppose  I  must  sound  cheeky  and 
brazen  to  talk  this  way,  but  I'm  full  of  the  joy  of  it 
all,  and  I've  made  the  goal,  you  see,  and  for  all  the 
breakdown  I've  come  out  ahead.  It's  enough  to 
stir  one,  don't  you  think  ? 

"The  night  I  graduated,  I  don't  mind  telling 
this  to  you,  I  went  down  on  my  knees  when  all  the 
excitement  was  over  and  the  lights  were  out, 
and  I  said,  'I  am  here.  I've  got  money;  the  good 
God  need  not  have  me  on  his  mind  along  that  line; 
he  can  send  me  where  he  chooses,  to  do  his  work; 
I'm  ready.' 

"It  was  like  consecrating  myself,  you  know. 
Well,  when  the  sickness  came,  I  thought  perhaps 
he  didn't  want  me  or  my  money  either;  but  I  came 
out  of  the  Valley  and  here  I  am  now,  and  I  tell 
you  —  it  seems  good." 

Filmer  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest,  and  looked 
steadily  ahead  of  him. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said  at  length  —  "and  I  hope 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         89 

you'll  excuse  me  —  I  think  you're  the  most  comical 
cuss  that  ever  happened." 

Drew  met  this  frank  opinion  with  the  boyish  laugh 
that  was  having  the  effect  of  clearing  up  all  the  dull 
places  in  Filmer's  character.  He  had  never  heard 
that  laugh  equalled  but  once,  and  he  rarely  went 
back  to  that  memory  —  the  path  was  too  hard  and 
lonely. 

The  reserves  were  down  between  the  two.  With- 
out reason  or  cause,  perhaps,  they  had  fallen  into  a 
confident  liking. 

"  Have  you  done  much  marrying  and  burying  yet  ?" 
The  question  startled  Drew,  then  he  recalled  the 
conversation  on  the  Station  platform. 

"Well,  no,"  he  said,  "practical  demonstration 
comes  after  graduation  generally.  I've  substituted 
for  ministers  —  preached  a  Sunday,  now  and  then, 
you  know;  but  of  course,  I  can  perform  the  marriage 
ceremony,  or  read  the  burial  service." 

"You  look  pretty  young,"  Jock  spoke  slowly;  he 
was  noting  the  strange  dignity  of  his  guest.  Any 
reference  to  his  profession  brought  with  it  this  calm 
assurance  that  held  levity  in  check;  "but  it's  this 
way.  There's  a  wedding  fixed  for  to-morrer.  I've 
set  my  heart  on  it  coming  off,  and  there  ain't  a  durned 
parson  to  be  had,  that  the  girl  favours.  Now  under 
these  circumstances,  you  can't  afford  to  look  a  gift 
horse  in  the  mouth  so  to  speak,  and  no  offence 
intended.  I  can  give  you  a  tip  or  two  before  you 


90         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

trot  in,  and  as  for  you,  why  you  know,  there  ain't 
nothing  equal  to  being  thrown  neck  and  crop  into  a 
job. 

"The  first  time  I  went  logging  I  got  one  leg  broke 
and  my  head  smashed,  but  I  haven't  ever  regretted 
it.  That  accident,  and  the  incidental  scare,  did 
more  for  me  than  any  two  successful  seasons  could 
have  done.  Now,  your  plunging  right  into  a  marry- 
ing may  prove  providential.  Sermons  and  infant 
christenings  will  seem  like  child's  play  after.  What 
do  you  say  ?" 

Drew  was  laughing  and  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"I'll  —  I'll  do  my  level  best,"  he  managed  to  say 
through  his  spasms  of  mirth.  "This  seems  like  a 
horrible  approach  to  anything  so  serious,  but  it  is 
the  way  you  put  it,  you  know,  and  —  and  the  air, 
and  the  supper.  The  laugh  comes  easy,  you  see." 

"Oh!  enjoy  yourself."  Filmer  waved  his  pipe 
aloft.  "I'm  glad  you  can  take  life  this  way,  with  the 
handicap  of  your  trade,  I  don't  quite  see,  by  thunder, 
how  your  future  parish  is  going  to  account  for  you, 
but  so  far  as  I'm, concerned  you  can  laugh  till  you 
bust." 

Filmer  was  delighted.  Not  in  years  had  he  been 
so  taken  out  of  himself. 

"Now  this  here  town,"  he  explained,  "likes  to 
have  its  buryings  and  weddings  set  off  with  a  ser- 
mon with  the  principal  actor  as  text.  They  like  to 
get  their  money's  worth.  See  ?  This  girl,  what  I 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         y* 

want  spliced,  is  a  devilish  -  '  he  paused  —  "you 
don't  mind  moderately  strong  language,  do  you?" 
he  asked.  "We  all  get  flowery  up  here.  What 
is  lacking  in  events,  talk  makes  up.  I'll  hold  back 
when  I  can  —  in  reason." 

"Don't  mind  me!"  Drew  was  trying  to  control 
his  mirth. 

Filmer    nodded    appreciatively. 

"Well,  as  I  was  remarking  —  and  I've  got  to  be 
open  with  you  —  this  here  girl  will  be  safer  married, 
and  so  will  some  other  folks.  I  ain't  much  of  a 
reader  of  character,  but  I  sense  things  like  all 
creation,  and  I  feel  that  getting  the  girl  in  harness 
as  soon  as  possible  is  the  only  plain  common-sense 
method.  She's  mettlesome,  you  know,  the  kind  that 
kicks  over  the  traces,  and  slams  any  one  happening 
to  be  handy.  She  ain't  never  done  it  yet  —  but  she's 
capable  of  it." 

"Is  —  is  the  girl  a  relation  or ?" 

Jock  flushed. 

"Neither.  Nor  the  man.  The  feller  —  Jude 
Lauzoon  is  his  name  —  I  don't  care  a  durn  for,  but 
he's  all  gone  over  this  girl,  and  if  any  one  can  steer 
him  straight  she  can,  and  when  she  gets  the  reins 
in  her  hands,  I  believe  she's  going  to  keep  her  head, 
in  order  to  steer  straight. 

"  The  girl's  name  is  Joyce  Birkdale.  Mother  dead ; 
raised  sort  of  promiscuous  on  the  instalment  plan. 
Father  an  old  buck  who  only  keeps  sober  because 


92          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

he  want's  to  see  what's  going  on.  He  lit  out  and 
made  himself  scarce  a  time  back,  and  this  here 
Joyce  took  refuge  after  a  hell  of  —  excuse  me ! 
after  a  row  with  the  old  man  —  up  to  the  Black  Cat. 
Leon  Tate  acts  the  father-part  to  any  one  in  a  fix  — 
it  helps  his  trade  —  keeps  folks  in  his  debt,  you 
know,  but  he  ain't  going  to  hamper  hisself  past  a 
certain  point,  and  if  this  here  Jude  Lauzoon  should 
get  a  beckon  from  old  man  Birkdale  he'd  skip  as 
quick  as  thunder  —  that's  what  is  troubling  Tate, 
and,  by  gosh!  it's  troubling  me,  but  for  another 
reason  what  needn't  enter  into  this  here  conversation. 

"  If  it  was  trusting  you  with  a  funeral  or  a  christen- 
ing," Filmer  felt  his  way  gingerly,  "I  wouldn't 
care  a  durn.  You  can't  hurt  the  dead  and  the  kid 
might  outgrow  it;  but  when  it  comes  to  tying  folks 
together  tight,  it's  a  blamed  lot  like  trusting  some- 
thing brittle  in  a  baby's  hand.  It  mustn't  be 
broke,  you  see,  or  there'll  be  h  —  I  mean  trouble, 
to  pay." 

"See  here!"  Drew  sat  up  straight,  "I'm  not  much 
younger  than  you,  if  the  truth  were  known.  So 
let  us  cut  extreme  youth  out  of  the  question." 

"  Maybe  you  are  about  my  age,  kid,"  Jock  gazed 
indulgently  upon  him,  "and  don't  let  your  necktie 
choke  you;  but  you're  pretty  raw  material,  and  I'm 
seasoned.  That's  the  difference.  It  ain't  anything 
against  you.  It's  the  way  you've  been  handled. 
Burying  is  looked  upon  by  young  and  old,  solemn- 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS          93 

like;  but  I  didn't  know  how  you  looked  upon  — 
marrying." 

"It's  the  solemnest  thing  in  life."  Drew  spoke 
clearly  and  impressively.  "I  think  death  is  a  light 
matter  in  comparison.  I've  always  thought  that  — 
since,  well  —  for  several  years." 

"Now  you're  talking!"  Jock  leaned  over  and 
gave  Drew  a  friendly  slap  on  the  shoulder.  "Now 
you're  getting  on  the  right  course,  and  I  want 
to  give  you  this  tip.  Lay  it  on  thick  with  Jude. 
Tell  him  he'll  be  everlasting  blasted  in  kingdom- 
come  if  he  don't  act  clean  and  hold  on.  Specially 
slap  it  on  about  holding  on.  Jude's  intentions  are 
good  enough.  He's  powerful  promising  at  the  start, 
but  he's  the  d  — ,  the  gol-durndest  quitter  anywhere 
around. 

"Every  new  boss  bets  on  Jude  when  the  season 
begins,  but  every  man  of  them  would  like  to  kick 
him  out  of  camp  before  the  spring  sets  in.  All  the 
hell-fire  threats  that  that  religion  factory  of  yours 
drilled  in  you,  you  plank  on  Jude  to-morrow,  when 
you  make  him  and  Joyce  man  and  wife.  How 
fervent  was  that  factory  of  yours  ?  There  is  a 
difference  in  temperatures  among  them,  I've  heard." 

"Oh!  mine  was  mild,"  Drew  was  again  helplessly 
convulsed,  "so  mild  that  I'm  afraid  you'd  call  it 
frigid.  But  that  doesn't  matter.  Future  damnation 
is  a  poor  threat  when  every  man  among  us  knows 
that  a  present  hell  is  a  much  worse  affair.  It's  the 


94          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

awakening  of  a  soul  to  that  fact,  that  is  going  to  save 
the  world  of  men  and  women." 

A  full  moon  was  sailing  high  in  the  heavens  now, 
and  Drew's  animated  face  showed  clear  in  the  pale 
gleam.  Jock  hitched  his  chair  nearer. 

"Do  you  mean  to  insinuate,"  he  asked,  "that 
you've  been  wasting  your  time  and  health  studying  a 
line  of  preaching  that  hasn't  got  a  red-hot  hell  in 
the  background  for  sinners?" 

"I  mean  just  that."  Drew  threw  back  his  head 
proudly. 

"What  in  thunder  do  you  do  with  them,  then?" 

"We  try  —  by  God's  help  I'm  going  to  try  — 

to  take  fear  from  them.     Make  them  want  to  be 

i 

decent.  Make  them  want  to  use  the  powers  they 
have  in  themselves.  Make  them  want  to  work 
with  God,  not  alone  for  God." 

Jock's  face  was  a  puzzle.  Admiration,  pity, 
bewilderment,  and  a  desire  to  laugh,  waged  war. 
Finally  he  drawled: 

"Well,  I'll  be  eternally  durned,  if  I  ain't  sorry 
that  a  bright  chap  like  you  has  wasted  his  youth, 
and  pretty  nearly  drowned  the  vital  spark,  in 
arriving  at  such  a  cold-storage  conclusion  as  this 
here  one  you've  been  airing.  Why  any  one  with 
half  an  eye  can  see  that  if  hell-fire  can't  stir  sinners, 
a  slow  call  to  duty  ain't  going  to  get  a  hustle  on  them. 
I  swear  if  it  wasn't  so  late,  I'd  get  Gaston  over  here 
to  listen  to  your  views.  Gaston  is  open  to  all  kinds 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         95 

ot  tommy-rot  that  has  a  new  mark  on  it.  I'll  be 
jiggered  if  I  don't  believe  Gaston  will  want  to  pay 
you  a  salary  to  keep  you  here  just  for  a  diversion. 
But  take  my  advice,  and  keep  to  old-fashioned  lines, 
to-morrer  'specially,  when  you  come  to  the  marrying. 
Lord!  Lord!  But  Jude  would  be  having  a  picnic 
if  he  grasped  that  rose-coloured  streamer  of  yours." 

Drew  made  no  reply.  He  was  thinking,  and  his 
thoughts  led  where  he  knew  Jock  could  not  follow. 

Presently  a  thin,  blue-veined  hand  stole  out  in 
the  darkness  and  found  Filmer's. 

"I  —  I  —  didn't  know  such  men  as  you  —  such 
a  place  as  this  —  existed,"  said  the  low,  eager  voice. 
"It's  like  having  died  and  awakened  in  a  new 
atmosphere,  where  even  the  people  are  different. 
It's  —  it's  quite  an  inspiration." 

Jock  kept  the  hand,  delicate  as  a  woman's,  in  his 
strong,  rough  palm. 

"You're  somewhat  of  an  eye-opener  yourself," 
he  said.  "I've  always  held  that  mixing  is  learning 
on  both  sides.  As  long  as  you've  got  strength  and 
inclination  to  stretch  out,  you'll  always  find  some- 
thing stretching  out  to  you. 

"And  now  as  to  that  proposition  of  yours  a  time 
back,  about  bunking  here  for  a  time.  I'm  agreed, 
with  this  understanding:  I've  got  a  devil  of  a  dis- 
position, but  it  ain't  ever  going  to  be  no  better  and 
them  as  don't  like  it  can  find  new  quarters.  I  came 
here  over  ten  years  ago  to  indulge  my  disposition, 


96          JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

and  I'm  going  to  indulge  it.  When  I  don't  want 
folks,  I  take  to  the  forest,  or,  if  the  weather  is  bad, 
I  shut  and  lock  my  door.  If,  after  knowing  this, 
you  care  to  take  that  room  I  gave  you  this  afternoon, 
it's  yours  for  as  long  as  you  want  it.  I  like  you. 
I'm  sudden  in  my  likes,  but  I  don't  like  your  hell-less 
doctrine.  I  advise  you  not  to  turn  that  loose  in  St. 
Ange.  We're  none  too  good  now,  but  if  a  soothing 
syrup  was  poured  out,  them  as  valued  their  lives 
would  have  to  navigate  to  the  Solitudes." 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  cried  Drew.  "As  God  hears 
me,  I  believe  it  is  just  the  place  to  try  it." 

"Oh!  Get  to  bed."  Jock  stood  up  and  laughed 
good-naturedly.  "Go  to  bed  and  get  up  steam 
for  to-morrer.  When  you  see  the  whole  collection 
you'll  warm  up  your  ideas.  You're  a  terrible  plucky 
kid  to  trust  your  own  soul  on  a  trifling  little  raft 
like  this  religion  of  yours.  You  better  not  overload 
it  with  more  souls,  though;  the  risk's  too  tremendous. 

"Go  sleep  on  your  fairy  story,  boy.  I  don't  see 
for  the  life  of  me  how  your  health  could  have  broken 
studying  such  a  mild  mixture  as  that.  You  must 
have  been  real  run  down  at  the  start.  But  never 
mind,  don't  lay  the  laugh  up  against  me,  kid,  I  ain't 
enjoyed  myself  so  much  in  ten  years  as  I  have  to- 
night." 

The  two  parted  the  best  of  friends.  Drew  fell 
quickly  into  a  deep,  undisturbed  sleep,  but  Filmer 
tossed  about  till  morning.  The  grim  Past  gripped 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         97 

him;  he  pulled  the  flask,  that  stood  ever  ready,  nearer; 
but  the  cowardice  of  the  act  swayed  him,  and  he  flung 
the  bottle  to  the  floor. 

Then  he  swore,  and  tried  to  sleep  again,  but  the 
Spectre  jeered  him. 

"The  powers  they  have  in  themselves."  The 
words  struck  again  and  again  on  Filmer's  aching 
brain. 

What  powers  ?  Oh !  he  had  had  powers.  He 
might  have  been  —  what  ?  He  might  have  been 
where  ?  If  —  if  - 

The  sunrise  of  Joyce's  wedding  day  was  just 
breaking  when  Filmer's  Spectre  gave  up  the  struggle 
and  sleep  came.  The  only  trophy  of  the  victory 
was  the  discarded  flask,  which  lay  untouched  where 
the  hand  of  the  master  —  for  that  time  at  least  — 
had  flung  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  word  had  passed  along,  and  all  St.  Ange 
knew  that  Jock  Filmer  had  a  raw  specimen 
of  a  parson  up  at  his  shack,  in  safe  keeping 
for  the  Sunday  events.     For  Joyce's  wedding-day 
fell  upon  a  Sunday. 

"He's  fattening  him  up,"  said  Tom  Smith,"  and 
the  Lord  knows  he  needs  it!  Such  a  spindling 
youngster  I  never  saw  —  a  parson!"  The  contempt 
was  too  deep  for  Smith's  expression,  so  he  gave  up. 
"And  to  think,"  added  the  train  conductor,  stretching 
his  long  legs  in  Tate's  tavern,  "there  he  was  on  my 
car,  and  I  never  sensed  his  ideas.  Talk  about 
entertaining  angels  unaware,  it  ain't  in  it!  He 
even  cussed  mild  when  I  told  him  his  ticket  was 
punched  for  Green  Lake,  and  he  was  headed  for 
St.  Ange.  I  never  would  have  took  him  for  any- 
thing but  a  plain  milksop  till  he  let  forth  his 
opinions." 

"I  don't  call  it  a  proper  attitude,"  broke  in  Tate, 
mixing  a  glass  of  vile  dilution  for  Murphy's  con- 
sumption. "I  don't  call  it  a  proper  attitude  for  a 
parson  to  appear  so  much  like  other  folks  that  you 
can't  tell  *im.  It's  suspicious,  says  I.  How  do  we 
know  as  he  is  a  parson  ?" 

98 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS         99 

This  suggestion  caused  the  company  a  moment's 
pause. 

"He  better  be!"  muttered  Peter  Falstar.  "He'd 
better  be  what  he  claims  to  be,  even  if  it  is  a  parson. 
We  don't  stand  for  any  tricks  from  strangers." 

This  lifted  the  spirits  somewhat.  Looked  at  that 
way,  they  had  the  matter  in  their  own  hands. 

"I  wonder"  -  Tate's  face  assumed  its  cheerful 
placidity-  "if  his  marrying  of  Jude  and  Joyce 
would  hold  in  any  court  o'  law  ?" 

At  this  the  listeners  laughed. 

"Who  ever  heard  of  a  marriage  in  St.  Ange 
getting  to  a  court  o'  law  ?  "  asked  Tom  Smith. 

"But  Jared  ain't  never  had  a  daughter  married 
before."  Tate  nodded  his  head  sagely.  "Jared's 
a  deep  one,  and,  taken  off  his  guard,  shows  he  knows 
more  about  law  and  order  than  any  one  man  I  ever  let 
my  eyes  fall  on." 

"  He  must  be  all-fired  off  his  guard,"  jeered  Falstar, 
"when  he  talks  order  of  any  kind.  Where  is  he, 
anyway  ?" 

"Exactly."  Tate  held  his  own  glass  high  and 
firm.  "  Where  is  he  ?  Here  is  his  daughter's 
wedding  day  —  Where  is  he  ?  I  tell  you  if  that 
marriage  ain't  hard  and  fast,  it's  my  opinion  Birk- 
dale  will  trifle  with  it  to  suit  his  own  ends.  Jude's 
taking  chances  when  he  annexes  Jared  to  his  respon- 
sibilities, and  don't  you  forget  it!  If  that  marriage 
ain't  hide-bound,  or  if  Jude  don't  provide  for  Birk- 


ioo        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

dale,  it's  going  to  be  broke  if  Jared  has  to  raise  all 
damnation  to  do  it.  He's  got  his  eye  to  a  knothole 
somewhere,  you  bet  your  life  on  that." 

By  superhuman  sacrifice  St.  Ange  had  kept  itself 
sober  the  Saturday  night  preceding  the  wedding  but 
it  did  not  sleep  much.  The  male  population  dis- 
cussed the  day's  doings  and  the  women  searched 
their  meagre  belongings  for  appropriate  trappings 
for  the  next  day's  festivities. 

Their  resources  were  limited,  and  the  day  being 
Sunday,  added  to  the  difficulty. 

"You  can't,"  said  draggled  Peggy  Falstar, 
"  put  on  real  gay  loggings  in  a  church  and  on  a 
Sunday." 

Isa  Tate,  as  leading  lady  in  the  place,  solved  the 
problem. 

"We've  got  our  mourning,"  she  said  to  Peggy  and 
the  others  gathered  in  Peggy's  dirty  kitchen.  "We 
always  have  that  on  hand.  Now  we  can  leave 
off  the  long  veils  and  put  some  false  flowers  on  our 
bonnets  —  real  spruce  ones.  They  will  lighten  up 
the  black.  Them  as  has  black  gloves  can  wear 
them,  but  by  carrying  a  clean  handkercher  real 
conspicuous,  the  gloom  will  be  brightened  some." 

"  I  ain't  had  a  pair  of  gloves  in  seventeen  years," 
moaned  Peggy. 

"Well,  you  can  sort  of  wind  yer  handkercher 
around  your  hands,"  comforted  Isa. 

"My   feelings   may   be   overcome,"    said    Peggy; 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        101 

"they  generally  is  in  public,  and  then  I'll  have  to 
use  my  handkercher  and  show  my  hands." 

"You'll  have  to  control  yourself."  Isa  looked 
grim.  "And,  land  o'  love,  a  wedding  ain't  no  place 
for  wailing.  Tate  and  me  has  given  Joyce  a  real 
smart  white  dress,  and  she's  trimmed  her  old  hat 
all  up  with  little  frost  flowers.  She's  a  dabster  at 
fixin'  things.  She's  going  to  look  real  stylish.  You 
know  her  mother  was  that  way,  though  it  was  sorter 
knocked  out  of  her,  but  the  last  thing  she  said  to  me 
was,  'Isa,  I  want  you  to  put  my  grandmother's  specs 
on  me  when  I'm  gone.  Specs  is  dreadful  stylish,  and 
I've  always  looked  forward  to  my  eyes  giving  out 
so  I  could  wear  them.  My  eyes,'  says  she,  'has 
lasted  better  than  me,  but  I  want  to  be  buried  in  my 
specs';  and  so  she  was!" 

The  women  all  wiped  their  eyes. 

"She  was  a  powerful  impressive  corpse,"  whim- 
pered Peggy,  "but  them  specs  gave  me  a  terrible 
turn  when  I  saw  them  first.  The  second  look  sorter 
took  away  the  shock.  I  do  hope,"  Peggy  sighed, 
"I  do  hope  them  specs  was  long-distance  ones. 
The  good  Lord  knows  Mrs.  Birkdale  had  favourable 
reasons  for  seeing  as  far  off  as  possible!" 

"They  was,"  Isa  nodded.  "I  tried  'em,  and 
things  was  all  blurred  to  me." 

And  then  the  women  parted  gloomily,  to  meet 
again  at  Joyce's  wedding. 

It  was  such  a  day  as  only  the  mountains  know. 


102        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

A  hushed,  golden  day  with  a  mysterious  softness 
of  outline  on  the  distant  hills. 

The  little  crumbling  church  was  open  to  the  beauty 
of  the  morning,  and  John  Gaston  had  decked  it 
within  with  every  flowering  thing  he  could  gather 
from  wood  and  meadow. 

Jock  came  early  and  stood  in  one  of  the 
narrow  doors  of  the  church,  opening  upon  the 
highway.  His  hands  were  plunged  in  his  pockets, 
and  a  look  of  concentration  was  on  his  handsome 
face. 

He  was  going  to  "set,"  so  he  thought,  his  baby 
parson  on  to  Jude.  There  was  excitement  in  the 
idea.  While  he  stood  there  Gaston  came  and  took 
his  stand  at  the  other  narrow  door.  The  architect 
of  the  St.  Ange  church  had  had  ideas  of  propriety 
in  regard  to  established  rules. 

"Looks  —  some!  don't  it  ?"  Jock  asked. 

"Yes,"  Gaston  replied;  "I  was  bound  to  have  it 
look  as  wedding-like  as  possible." 

"You  did  the  decorating?"  Jock  asked,  and  a 
curious  frown  settled  between  his  eyes.  "I  thought 
it  was  the  women." 

"They're  thinking  of  themselves.  Is  your  parson 
on  to  the  game,  Filmer  ?" 

"He's  all  right.  Gone  off  to  commune  with 
Nater.  There  he  is  now." 

Drew  had  entered  the  rear  door,  and  went  at  once 
to  the  small  bare  pulpit. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        103 

"Umph!"  whispered  Gaston.  "Looks  like  a 
picture  of  John  the  Baptist/' 

"He  don't  act  like  it."  Jock  was  in  arms  at  once 
against  any  suspected  criticism.  "He's  got  more 
sand  than  many  a  blasted  heavyweight.  You  ought 
to  hear  his  gab  — it's  the  newest  thing  in  soul-saving. 
Sort  o'  homeopathic  doctrine.  Tastes  good,  but 
bitter  as  pisen  under  the  coating.  Real  stuff  inside, 
and  all  that.  Get's  working  after  it's  taken,  and  the 
sweet  taste  lasts  in  your  mouth  while  your  innards 
are  acting  like  — " 

The  people  were  gathering.  They  passed  by 
Jock  and  Gaston  without  recognition.  Social  func- 
tions in  St.  Ange  ignored  all  familiar  intimacies. 

Jude  and  Joyce  came  through  the  rear  door,  and 
sat  in  the  front  pew. 

The  girl  moved  with  the  absorption  of  a  sleep- 
walker beside  Jude  whose  shufflings  bespoke 
nervous  tension.  Every  now  and  then  he  glanced 
sheepishly  at  Joyce.  Even  to  his  senses,  accus- 
tomed as  they  were  to  the  girl's  beauty,  there  was 
a  slight  shock  of  surprise. 

The  little  round  hat  was  gracefully  wound  with 
frost  flower0  until  it  looked  like  a  wreath  upon  the 
pale  gold  of  the  glorious  hair.  The  face  was  white 
and  luminous,  and  the  eyes  looked  as  if  they  were 
expecting  a  vision  to  appear. 

The  white  dress,  home-made  and  cheap,  had  the 
unfailing  touch  that  innate  taste  always  gives,  and 


104        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

it  fell  in  soft  lines  about  the  slim,  girlish  figure. 
The  little  work-worn  hands  were  folded  loosely. 
They  were  resting  a  moment  before  taking  up  the 
labour  of  the  new,  untried  life. 

Drew  glanced  down  as  the  two  came  in,  and  when 
he  saw  Joyce  he  started,  and  leaned  forward. 

He  tried  to  take  his  eyes  from  that  pale,  exquisite 
face,  but  could  not.  It  moved  him  powerfully  not 
only  by  its  beauty,  but  by  its  expression  of  entranced 
expectation. 

Could  the  crude  fellow  at  her  side  inspire  such 
emotion  ?  It  was  puzzling  and  baffling,  but  it 
roused  Drew's  sympathy,  and  held  him  captive. 
The  rough  faces  of  the  men,  the  pitiable,  worn  faces 
of  the  women,  the  sprinkling  of  freckled,  childish 
faces  were  blotted  out  for  him.  Like  a  star  in 
blank  space  shone  that  one  sweet,  waiting  face  with 
its  wreath  of  fairy-like  flowers. 

She  was  waiting  for  something  she  expected  him 
to  give.  Drew  became  obsessed  with  this  thought. 
Not  the  consecration  of  marriage  —  No !  but  some- 
thing she  —  the  soul  of  her  —  wanted. 

Out  among  the  pines  in  the  early  morning  Drew 
had  made  a  few  notes,  these  he  clutched  in  his 
feverish  right  hand.  When  the  hour  fixed  upon 
arrived,  he  arose  and  stood  beside  the  rickety  pulpit 
stand.  He  made  a  short  prayer;  he  knew  it  was 
feeble  and  rambling. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   105 

"Scared  to  death,"  thought  Gaston,  and  he  heard 
Filmer  breathe  heavily.  Then  Drew  lifted  his  notes 
to  the  desk;  tried  to  fix  his  eyes  and  attention  upon 
them,  failed  and  gazed  helplessly  at  that  one  face  in 
the  appalling  vacancy.  Presently  the  bits  of  paper 
fell  from  his  nerveless  hand  and  fluttered  to  the  floor. 

Back  in  his  college  days  he  had  had  his  dream  of 
the  vital  word  he  would  say  to  his  people  —  bis 
people  —  on  that  first  day  when  he  was  to  come  to  his 
own.  Strangely  enough  he  felt  that  his  time  had 
arrived.  Called  only  by  God,  to  a  people  who  would 
never  think  of  desiring  him,  he  must  say  his  word 
though  only  that  pale,  wonderful  face  thrilled  to 
his  meaning.  If  only  he  could  make  her  understand, 
he  would  take  it  as  a  sign  from  on  high  that  his 
mission  was  not  to  be  an  unworthy  one. 

Drew  always  had  the  power,  even  in  his  weakest 
moments,  to  utilize  his  panic  to  more  intense  con- 
centration. It  was  the  faculty  that  had  made  his 
college  president  point  to  him  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion as  a  success.  Now,  with  the  anchor  of  his  notes 
fluttering  in  the  September  breeze,  he  put  out  to  sea. 

"We  brought  nothing  into  this  world,  and  it's 
certain  we  can  carry  nothing  out." 

"  He's  mistaking  this  for  a  funeral,"  thought  Gas- 
ton,  and  he  struggled  to  conquer  his  inclination  to 
laugh. 

But  what  was  happening  ?  The  boy  up  aloft  was 
refuting  the  statement.  His  voice  had  a  power 


io6        JCTJCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

wholly  out  of  proportion  to  the  frail  body.  He  was 
getting  hold  of  the  people,  too,  Peggy  Falstar  was 
crying  openly,  and  slow,  hard-brought  tears  were 
dimming  many  eyes. 

They  were  being  told,  those  plain,  dull  people, 
and  by  a  mere  boy,  too,  that  they  had  brought  some- 
thing into  the  world.  A  heritage  of  strength  and 
weakness;  of  good  and  evil,  bequeathed  to  them  by 
those  who  had  gone  on.  From  these  fragments 
their  souls  must  weave  what  is  to  be  taken  with  them 
when  Death  comes.  The  effort,  the  struggle,  the 
success  or  failure,  will  be  the  part  that  they  leave 
behind  for  them  who  remain,  or  who  are  to  come 
later.  In  words  strangely  adapted  to  his  listeners, 
that  frail  boy,  with  glorified  face,  was  beseeching 
them,  as  they  valued  their  future  hope,  as  they 
desired  to  make  better  the  ones  who  must  live  later, 
to  gain  a  victory  over  their  heritage  of  weakness  and 
sin  by  the  God-given  elements  of  strength  and  good- 
ness, and  to  blaze  the  trail  for  themselves,  and  to 
leave  it  so  free  behind  them  that  weak,  stumbling 
feet  might  easier  find  the  way. 

He  was  speaking  to  fathers  and  mothers  for  the 
sakes  of  their  children.  He  was  urging  the  two 
about  to  marry  to  see  to  it  that  they  prepare  by  their 
own  consecration,  the  path  on  before. 

A  silence  filled  the  little  church.  The  boy,  pale 
and  exhausted,  was  asking  Jude  and  Joyce  to  come 
forward. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        107 

Gaston  saw  them  go,  side  by  side,  Jude  shambling 
as  usual,  Joyce  stepping  as  if  hastening  to  receive 
something  long-desired. 

It  was  the  briefest  of  services.  Simple,  unadorned, 
but  dignified  and  solemn. 

Amen! 

It  was  over.  Jude  and  Joyce  were  married !  The 
people  were  stirring;  were  moving  about.  The 
sodden,  familiar  life  was  awaiting  every  one  of  them. 
No;  something  had  happened  in  St.  Ange.  Gaston 
knew  it.  Filmer  knew  it.  Peggy  Falstar  had  hold 
of  her  little  Billy's  hand,  and  Peter  followed  with  his 
little  daughter  Maggie  drawn  close  to  him. 

Leon  Tate  was  red  in  the  face,  and  Isa  looked 
stern  and  thoughtful.  Yes ;  something  had  happened 
in  St.  Ange.  It  would  never  be  the  same. 

Drew  went  outside  the  church  and  joined  Filmer. 
He  had  seen  the  uplifted  expression  on  Joyce's  face. 
He  had  had  his  answer  from  on  high;  and  he  was 
strangely  moved. 

He  stood  beside  Filmer,  motionless  and  flushed. 
Jock  contemplated  him  from  his  greater  height  as 
if  he  were  a  new  and  startling  enigma. 

"Say,  kid,"  he  drawled  presently,  striving  to  hide 
the  excitement  that  was  causing  the  perspiration  to 
stand  on  his  forehead;  "what  got  into  you  ?" 

"  I  reckon  it  was  something  getting  out  of  me," 
Drew  replied  with  the  short  cough. 

"I  don't  know  as  them  few  words  you  spoke  art 


io8        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

capable  of  holding  Jude  and  Joyce  eternally.  What 
you  think?" 

"If  they  cannot,  no  others  could."  Again  the 
quick,  harsh  cough. 

"But  that  sermon!"  Jock  shrugged  his  shoulders 
nervously;  "that's  what's  shook  the  foundations  of 
this  here  town.  Leaving  out  the  fact  of  you  being 
you,  standing  up  there  handling  folks's  feelings  as 
you  did,  I  want  to  know  if  you  stand  by  them  ideas 
you  passed  out?" 

"With  all  my  mind!" 

"Not  elocuting  and  acting ?" 

"Surely  not." 

"  Why,  see  here,  kid,  if  what  you  said  is  true  — 
which,  by  thunder  it  ain't!  —  don't  you  see  that 
doctrine,  'bout  coming  with  an  outfit,  adding  to  it, 
and  taking  away  what  you  want,  and  leaving  what 
you  must;  blazing  trails,  clearing  away  underbrush 
and  what  not;  why,  don't  you  see  that's  worse,  by 
a  confounded  lot,  than  the  old-fashioned  hell  ?" 

"Much,  much  more  solemn."  Drew  leaned 
against  a  tree.  His  new  strength  was  exhausted. 
Jock  was  too  absorbed  to  notice  the  weakness  and 
pallor. 

"Why,"  he  went  on  excitedly,  "when  you  know 
you're  going  to  frizzle  at  the  end  —  just  you,  yourself, 
you  can  se*i  the  justice  of  it,  and  respect  what  sent  you 
there,  brt  to  eternally  be  thinking  of  others,  and 
messing  up  their  lives  —  why  that's  durn  rot." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        109 

"Filmer,"  the  tone  was  low  and  faltering;  "we're 
all  one  with  God,  no  matter  how  you  put  it.  All 
working  together;  all  bound  on  the  same  journey. 
Think  back;  was  there  never  one  you  loved  who 
suffered  with  you  and  for  you  ?  Have  you  ever 
considered  how  much  of  that  one's  life  you  were 
hampering,  when  you  dragged  him  —  or  her  — 
down?" 

Filmer's  face  twitched. 

"Now,  see  here,"  he  blurted  out,  and  his  eyes 
flashed,  "the  folks  round  here  ain't  going  to  stand 
for  this  rot,  and  I  don't  blame  'em.  When  they 
think  it  over,  they'll  get  drunker  than  ever,  and  they'll 
even  up  with  you  later.  You've  got  to  learn  more 
than  you've  learned  already.  Feelings  are  private 
property  and  outsiders  better  keep  off.  Come  home 
to  dinner.  You  look  like  a  pricked  bladder.  This 
here  gassing  'bout  things  what  ain't  worthwhile 
don't  pay.  Here,  lean  on  me.  It's  all  gol-durned  non- 
sense using  yourself  up  so." 

He  took  Drew  firmly  by  the  arm,  and  led  him 
away. 

Drew  was  too  weak  to  continue,  even  had  he 
desired  to  do  so,  the  conversation  Filmer  had  forced 
upon  him,  but  when  they  were  smoking  in  the  late 
afternoon  Jock  returned  to  the  subject. 

"I  was  just  wondering,"  he  said,  through  the 
haze;  "ain't,  there  never  no  let  up  to  that  new- 
fangled idea  of  yours  ?" 


no       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"None.     That's  the  beauty  of  it." 

"Beauty?  Huh!  Well,  we'll  drop  it.  Feel  like 
toddling  down  to  Gaston's?"  Drew  rose  at  once. 

They  passed  down  the  pine-covered  path  slowly, 
and  as  they  neared  Gaston's  shack,  Filmer  paused. 

"Wherever  you  be,"  he  began  slowly,  "as  occasion 
permits,  you're  going  to  air  them  sentiments  ?" 

"I'm  going  to  live  them.  I  may  never  have  a 
chance  to  preach  them.  I'm  a  bit  discouraged  about 
the  weakness  that  followed  my  first  attempt." 

"Oh,  thunderation !  You're  going  to  pick  up 
flesh  and  strength  fast  enough  —  it's  that  slush 
you've  got  on  board  that's  getting  my  grouch.  I'd 
rather  you  had  a  natural  death,  kid.  I've  taken 
a  liking  to  you;  and  you  don't  know  St.  Ange." 


CHAPTER  VII 

JOYCE     stopped     her    wild    little    song,    and 
stood    still   to  listen.     Then    she   stepped   to 
the    window,    drew    aside    the  white  muslin 
curtain,  and  looked  out  upon  the  white,  white  world. 

She  had  thought  she  heard  a  step  on  the  crisp 
snow,  but  probably  it  was  the  crackling  of  the  pro- 
testing trees,  for  the  weight  of  ice  was  almost  more 
than  they  could  bear. 

The  lights  in  the  scattered  houses  shone  red  and 
steady  in  the  still  glitter.  A  full  moon  dimmed  the 
stars,  but  a  keen  glance  showed  that  every  one  was  in 
its  place  and  performing  its  duty  in  the  glorious  plan. 

A  white,  holy  night!  Only  such  a  night  as  comes 
to  high,  dry  places  where  the  cold  is  so  subtle  that 
its  power  is  disguised;  where  the  green-black  pines 
stand  motionless  in  the  hard  whiteness,  and  where 
the  silence  is  only  broken  by  mysterious  cracklings 
and  groanings,  when  Nature  stirs  in  the  heart  of  the 
seeming  Death,  while  she  weaves  the  robe  of  Spring. 

Joyce  was  beginning  to  feel  the  wonders  of  her 
little  world;  she  was  timidly  feeling  out  the  meaning 
of  things.  Sometimes  the  sensation  hurt  and 
frightened  her;  often  it  soothed  and  thrilled  her  to 
deep  ecstasy. 

xiz 


H2        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Presently  she  left  the  window,  and  turned  to  th« 
warmth  and  glow  inside. 

Jude's  old  cottage  had  been  transformed,  and 
Joyce  was  developing  into  one  of  those  women  who 
are  inherent  home-makers.  Such  women  can 
accomplish  more  with  the  bare  necessities  of  life 
than  others  with  the  world's  wealth  at  their  com- 
mand. It  is  like  personal  magnetism,  difficult  to 
understand,  impossible  to  explain. 

Comfort,  grace,  colour  and  that  sweet  disorder 
which  is  the  truest  order.  Chairs  at  the  right  angles, 
tables  convenient,  but  never  in  the  way.  A  roaring 
wood  fire  on  a  dustless  hearth;  pictures  hung  neither 
too  high  nor  too  low,  and  no  sense  of  emptiness  nor 
crowding.  A  room  that  neither  compelled  attention, 
nor  irritated  the  nerves  —  a  place  to  rest  in,  love 
in,  and  go  out  from,  with  a  longing  to  return. 

On  the  south  side  of  the  room,  Jude,  with  Gaston's 
financial  and  personal  assistance,  had  added  a 
bay  window. 

That  innovation  had  quite  stirred  St.  Ange. 
Ralph  Drew  had  designed  it  and,  through  the  sum- 
mer, while  the  building  was  in  process,  the  inhabitants 
had  watched  and  expressed  their  opinions  freely 
and  enjoyably. 

"Up  to  Joyce's,"  Billy  Falstar,  that  indefatigable 
gatherer  and  scatterer  of  news,  announced,  "they 
are  smashing  a  hole  in  the  off  side  of  the  house." 

An  hour  later,  a  good-sized  audience  was  occu- 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   113 

pying  the  open  space  on  the  south  side  of  the 
garden. 

"Why  don't  you  have  it  run  in,  instead  of  out?" 
Peter  Falstar  suggested.  "  It's  just  tempting  Provi- 
dence to  let  out  more  surface  to  catch  the  winter 
blasts." 

"And  it's  wasteful  as  thunder,"  added  Tom 
Smith.  "Just  so  much  more  heating  of  out-door 
space  enclosed  in  that  there  semi-circle." 

"There  ain't  nothing  to  see  from  that  side,  any- 
way," Leon  Tate  remarked,  as  if  possibly  the  others 
had  not  considered  that.  "If  you  want  a  more 
extended,  and  rounded  outlook,  you'd  better  smash 
the  north  side  out.  From  that  hole  you  could 
see  the  village,  and  what  not." 

"And   the   Black   Cat,"     Jock   Filmer   drawled. 

"It's  no  kind  of  an  outlook  at  all  that  don't 
include  the  Kitty,  eh,  Tate  ?" 

Tate  scowled.  He  held  a  grudge  against  Filmer. 
It  was  he  who  had  discovered,  sheltered,  and  abetted 
the  young  minister  who  had  so  interfered  with  trade 
a  time  back.  Tate  held  his  peace,  but  he  had 
never  forgotten. 

The  laugh  that  followed  Jock's  interruption 
nettled  the  tavern-keeper. 

But  the  pretty  window  had  been  finished  before 
Drew  and  the  autumn  went.  It  was  Joyce's  sanctu- 
ary and  pride.  In  it  stood  the  work-basket,  a  gift 
from  the  mystical  sister  of  Drew,  who  lived  off 


JOYCEJDFJTHE  NORTH  WOODS 

somewhere  beyond  the  Southern  Solitude,  a  girl 
about  whom  Drew  never  tired  of  talking,  and  about 
whom  events  seemed  to  cluster  as  bees  round  a  hive. 

In  that  nook,  too,  hung  the  three  wonderful 
pictures  —  Gaston's  wedding  gift. 

There  were  spaces  between  the  sides  and  centre 
of  the  window,  and  in  the  middle  place  hung  a 
modern  Madonna  and  Child.  This  Joyce  could 
comprehend.  Gaston  knew  the  older,  rarer  ones 
would  be  beyond  her. 

That  pictured  Mother  and  Child  were  moulding 
Joyce's  character.  Gaston  had  wondered  how  they 
might  affect  her. 

To  the  left  of  the  Madonna  was  an  ocean  view. 
A  stretch  of  sandy  shore,  an  in-rolling,  white-crested 
wave  —  with  a  limitless  beyond. 

To  the  wood-environed  mind  of  the  girl  this  pic- 
ture was  simply  a  breath-taking  fairy  fancy. 

It  existed,  such  a  thing  as  that.  Gastcn  had  sworn 
it,  but  it  was  incomprehensible.  However,  it  led 
the  new-born  imagination  to  expand  and  wander, 
and  when  Joyce  was  at  peace,  and  the  sun  shone, 
she  went  to  that  picture  for  excitement  and  worship. 

To  the  right  of  the  Madonna  hung  a  photograph. 
Gaston  had  taken  it  himself  long  ago.  A  fore- 
ground of  rugged,  cruel  rock;  black  where  age  had 
stamped  it;  white  where  snow  traced  the  deep 
wrinkles  of  time.  But  out  of  this  rough  light  and 
shade,  rose  a  glorious  peak,  sun-touched  and  cloud- 


THAT  PICTURED   MOTHER   AXD   CHILD    WERE    MOULDING   JOYCE'S 
CHARACTER 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        115 

loved.  A  triumphant  soul  reaching  up  to  heaven 
out  of  all  the  time-racked  rock. 

The  dwarfish  peaks,  that  had  surrounded  Joyce's 
outlook  all  her  life,  made  one  understand  the 
girl's  love  for  this  picture.  As  this  was  great, 
compared  to  the  small  things  she  knew,  so  life  held 
possibilities  that  her  life  hinted  —  she  might  struggle 
with  that  ideal  in  mind. 

The  ocean  scene  was  her  fancy's  fairy  space; 
the  towering  peak,  her  philosophy. 

But  Joyce  knew  nothing  of  all  this,  consciously. 
Marriage,  as  Isa  had  foretold,  brought  its  many 
cares  and  new  interests.  The  strangeness  and 
importance  dwindled.  No  one  considered  the  matter 
different  from  any  other  joining  of  St.  Ange  forces 
into  a  common  life  —  the  girl  herself  grew  to  take 
it  for  granted  and  sometimes  wondered  why  she 
imagined  her  lot  different. 

She  piled  on  more  wood  now,  and  laughed  at 
the  roar  and  glow.  Then  she  drew  up  the  arm-chair 
that  Jude  liked;  he  would  be  cold  and  tired  when 
he  returned.  With  a  little  laugh  she  pulled  her 
own  chair,  a  low,  deep  rocker,  from  the  bay  window, 
out  into  the  fire's  warmth,  opposite  Jude's  spacious 
chair.  Between  diem  she  placed  a  hassock  —  it 
was  nearer  her  rocker  than  Jude's  chair. 

This  she  evidently  noticed  after  a  moment's 
contemplation,  for  the  smile  faded,  and  with  strict 
impartiality  she  moved  the  stool  to  a  position  exactly 


u6        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

between  the  two  chairs,  and  directly  in  front  of  the 
fire's  full  light  and  heat. 

"There!"  she  said,  as  if  satisfied  with  her  own 
sense  of  justice  and  propriety.  "That  ought  to 
suit  everybody." 

The  smile  returned,  and  the  little  neglected  song 
was  taken  up  where  the  imagined  footsteps  had 
interrupted  it. 

The  room  was  rosy  and  warm;  even  the  window 
that  was  to  tempt  Providence  was  cosily  heated, 
and  the  box  of  plants  that  fringed  its  outer  edge 
stood  in  no  danger  of  the  frost's  touch. 

A  plate  of  deep-red  apples  on  the  table  sent  forth 
a  homely  fragrance,  and  they  were  almost  as  beauti- 
ful as  a  vase  of  roses  would  have  been. 

Presently  there  was  no  mistake  —  steps  were 
approaching.  The  crusted  snow  gave  way  under 
the  heavy  tread,  the  steps  of  the  little  porch  creaked 
under  the  weight  of  strong  bodies.  It  was  Gaston's 
voice  that  came  first  to  Joyce. 

"It's  too  late,  Jude.     Past  nine." 

"Come  in!  Come  in!"  Jude  was  stamping  nois- 
ily. "It  ain't  never  too  late,  when  I  say  come. 
Maybe  Joyce  can  tempt  you  with  a  mixture  she's  a 
dabster  at.  After  the  walk  you  need  it,  and  so  do  I." 

The  outer  door  was  pushed  back,  the  waiting 
cold  rushed  in  with  the  two  men,  but  the  home 
glow  killed  it  as  the  kitchen  door  swayed  inward, 
and  Jude  and  Gaston  stepped  toward  Joyce. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   117 

She  stood  with  her  back  to  the  fire,  a  pale  straight 
figure  against  the  red  light. 

"Hello!  Joyce/*  Jude  was  energetically  pulling 
off  his  short,  thick  jacket.  "Get  busy  at  that  'mix' 
of  yours.  Put  plenty  of  the  real  thing  in  and  don't 
be  sparing  with  the  tasties.  Off  with  your  coat  and 
hat,  Mister  Gaston.  Make  yourself  comfortable. 
To  folks  as  is  already  up,  what's  an  hour  or  two  ?" 

Gaston   had    taken    Joyce's   hands   in   welcome. 

"It's  too  bad,"  he  said,  "to  set  you  to  work  after 
your  stint's  over.  The  room  looks  as  if  you'd 
bewitched  it.  I  tell  you,  Jude,  there  never  was  a 
man  yet  who  could  juggle  with  a  house  and  put 
the  soul  in  it." 

Joyce  flushed  happily,  and  took  Gaston's  hat 
from  him,  as  he  pulled  off  his  coat. 

"I'll  have  everything  ready  in  a  jiffy,"  she  said 
briskly.  "Sit  down,  and  tell  me  about  it,  while  I 
mix  the  brew." 

Jude  sank,  without  giving  Gaston  a  choice,  into 
his  own  chair.  Gaston  took  Joyce's  —  he  knew 
her  fancy  for  the  stool  when  he  and  Jude  were  both 
present. 

"Well,"  said  Jude,  stretching  his  legs  out  toward 
the  blaze,  and  putting  his  heavy,  snow-covered 
boots  so  near  the  fire  that  an  odour  of  scorching 
leather  filled  the  room;  "we  got  some  men  over  to 
Hillcrest,  and  we've  bargained  for  lumber  and 
other  materials;  we're  going  to  begin  at  once, 


n8        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

clearing,  and  soon  as  the  cold  lets  up,  we'll  start 
building." 

"Just  think!"  Joyce  stirred  the  concoction  in  the 
jug  jubilantly.  "Just  think  of  Mr.  Drew  coming 
here  and  bringing  folks  with  him.  Isn't  it  wonder- 
ful?" 

She  was  all  aglow  with  interest,  excitement  and 
pleasure.  Gaston  looked  at  her  musingly. 

"I  used  to  think,"  she  went  on,  coming  forward 
with  the  jug  and  setting  it  on  a  low  table  near  the 
hearth,  "that  nothing  could  ever  happen  here  in 
St.  Ange.  Nothing  that  hadn't  already  happened 
over  and  again.  Isa  has  always  said  the  place 
would  get  a  jog  some  day.  She  always  seemed  to 
sense  that,"  the  girl  smiled;  "and  she  was  right. 
Didn't  you  have  to  put  money  down  for  men  and 
things,  Jude?" 

"Sure!"   Jude  spoke  from  the  depths  of  his  mug. 

"Did  Mr.  Drew  send  money?" 

"Send  nothing."  Jude  laughed  foggily  from  the 
depths.  "That's  how  I  got  the  deal  so  prompt,  I 
told  him  I'd  undertake  the  job  without  any  settle- 
ment till  he  got  here  to  boss  the  doings." 

"  But  where  did  you  get  the  money,  Jude  ?" 

"It's  partnership,  Joyce,"  Gaston  broke  in. 
He  set  down  his  own  emptied  mug,  and  drew  a 
little  farther  from  the  fire's  revealing  light.  "'Lau- 
zoon,  Filmer  and  Gaston,  Contractors  and  Builders.' 
How  does  it  sound  ? " 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   119 

"  But  the  money  ?"  There  was  a  little  line  of  care, 
now,  between  the  girl's  deep  eyes. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  When  Drew  planks  down 
the  dollars,  Mr.  Gaston  will  get  them  back."  Jude 
wiped  his  heavy  lips  on  the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  But  —  it    must    have    taken  —  a    good    deal  ?" 

"Come,  Joyce,"  Jude  scowled,  "you  creep  back 
to  your  corner.  When  women  get  to  tangling  up 
money  with  their  own  doings,  it's  the  devil.  You 
keep  to  your  business,  girl,  and  leave  deeper  matters 
alone." 

Gaston  frowned.  Something  lay  back  of  that 
care-traced  line  on  Joyce's  forehead.  Something 
lay  back  of  her  questioning  —  what  was  it  ?  And 
Jude's  assumption  of  the  male  superiority  over  his 
young  wife  disturbed  Gaston.  He  had  not  noticed 
it  so  sharply  before. 

Presently  Joyce  took  the  low  stool,  and  clasped 
her  knees  in  her  enfolding  arms.  The  two  men 
had  filled  their  pipes,  and  now,  through  the  dim 
haze,  looked  at  the  fair,  dreamy  face  between  them. 
Then  Jude  laid  his  pipe  aside  —  and  snored.  The 
clock  ticked  softly.  The  logs  fell  apart  in  a  red 
glow.  In  drawing  away  from  the  flying  sparks, 
Joyce  placed  her  stool  nearer  Gaston,  and  the 
pretty  bent  head  came  within  easy  distance  of  the 
hand  lying  inert  on  the  chair  arm. 

"Jude  gets  awfully  sleepy  in  the  heat,"  Joyce 
whispered;  "you  don't  mind  ?" 


120        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"  No,  why  should  I  ?  But  I  ought  to  be  going. 
You  are  tired,  too  ? " 

"No."  The  sudden  upward  glance  was  all 
a-quiver  with  alertness.  "I  don't  ever  seem  tired 
now.  Keeping  one's  own  house  —  is  great!  and  it 
seems  like  everything  is  waking  up  every  minute. 
Sometimes  I  hate  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  I'll  miss 
something." 

And  now  Gaston's  hand  touched  the  heavy 
curves  of  pale,  gold  hair. 

"You  have  made  a  home,"  he  said;  "I  wonder  if 
you  know  what  a  great  achievement  that  is  ?  I 
wonder  if  Jude  knows  ?" 

Joyce  winced. 

"Oh!  if  he's  a  bit  cross  with  me,"  she  whispered 
softly,  "don't  you  mind.  He  thinks  that's  the  way, 
you  know.  /  understand." 

"I  suppose  you  do,"  Gaston  smoothed  the  silken 
hair,  "but  make  him  understand,  Joyce.  It  takes 
understanding  on  both  sides,  you  know." 

"And,  Mr.  Gaston"  —  the  girl  changed  the  sub- 
ject as  adroitly  as  a  more  worldly  wise  woman 
might  have  done  —  "you  helped  me  make  this 
home.  I  ain't  ever  going  to  let  you  forget  that. 
These  pictures,"  her  loving  glance  took  them  all 
in,  "  and  the  books  coming  and  going  just  fast  enough 
to  keep  me  nimble.  It  seems  like  you'd  opened  a 
gate  and  let  some  of  the  big  world  in." 

"There's  plenty  of  it  on  the  other  side  of  the 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   121 

two  Solitudes,  Joyce."  Gaston's  hand  fell  gently 
along  the  warm  throat  and  rested  on  the  bent  shoul- 
der. 

Jude  gave  another  gurgling  snore.  The  two  did 
not  change  their  positions,  but  there  was  silence  for 
an  instant. 

"That  mountain-top,  all  jagged  and  high  —  my! 
how  it  just  makes  me  want  to  climb;  climb  through 
my  work  all  day  long;  climb  to  getting  somewhere 
out  beyond.  And  that  great  empty  picture  with  the 
awful  white  wave  coming  from  nowhere  —  it  just 
makes  me  hold  my  breath.  Sometimes  it  seems 
as  if  it  was  going  to  swallow  up  everything  and  — 
me.  It  don't  ever  do  that,  does  it,  Mr.  Gaston?" 

"It  has  done  damage  of  that  kind  in  its  time; 
but  generally  it  obeys  orders  and  stops  at  the  safety 
line."  Gaston  smiled  into  the  wondering  eyes. 

"I  like  the  —  picture  —  I  like  it  terribly," 
breathed  the  girl,  "but  I'd  bate  the  real  thing.  I 
am  sure  it  makes  a  terrific  noise."  Gaston  nodded, 
and  old  memories  seemed  beating  in  upon  him. 
"It  would  wear  me  out  by  its  own " 

"  Restlessness."  Gaston's  thought  ran  along  with 
the  cruder  one.  "  Its  restlessness  is  at  times  — 
unbearable,  unless  —  one  is  very  young  and  happy." 

"But  I  am  young  —  and  happy."  Joyce  spoke 
lingeringly  and  her  eyes  grew  fixed  upon  the  heart 
of  the  coals.  "Still  I  would  hate  it  —  and  be  afraid 
of  it.  It's  beautiful  —  but  it's  awful.  I  don't  like 


122        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

awful  things.  I  like  to  look  up  at  that  brave  old 
mountain,  and  know  —  it  will  always  be  the  same 
no  matter  what  happens  down  below." 

Suddenly  Gaston  felt  old,  very  old,  beside  this 
girl  near  him  with  her  intuitive  soul-stretches  and 
her  hampered  life. 

"So  the  mountain  is  your  favourite  picture, 
Joyce?" 

A  grandfatherly  tone  crept  into  his  voice,  and  the 
caressing  hand  touched  the  round,  pale  outline  of 
cheek  and  chin  with  the  assurance  of  age  and  superi- 
ority —  but  the  girl  tingled  under  it. 

"No,"  she  said,  almost  breathlessly,  "I  like  that 
best  of  all."  And  she  pointed  a  trembling  finger 
toward  the  Madonna  and  Child. 

Gaston  was  conscious  of  a  palpitating  meaning 
in  the  words  and  gesture. 

"Why?"   he  asked  softly. 

"Because,"   the   fair  head   was   lowered,   not   in 
timidity,  but  in  deep  thought,  "  because  I  want  it  - 
my  baby  —  to  look  like  that  one.     I  look  and  look 
at  the  picture,  and  I  dream  about  it  at  night.     1 
know  every  little  dimple  and  the  soft  curls  —  and 
all,    I  pray  and  pray,  and  if  God  answers  —  then  - 
a  gentle  ferocity  rang  through  the  hurried  words  - 
"I'm  going  to  keep  it  so.     It's  going  to  be  different 
from  any  other  little  child  in  St  Ange.     And  it  all 
fits  in,  now  that  Mr.  Drew  is  coming  back.     It's 
just   wonderful!     It   was    Mr.    Drew   that   set    me 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        123 

thinking  about  leaving  something  better  for  them 
as    come    after.     He    said    terrible    strange    things 

-  but  you  can't  forget  them,  can  you  ?     I've  been  - 
well,  sort  of  weeding  out  my  life  ever  since  he  was 
here  —  and  there  can't  be  so  much  —  for  my  baby 
to  do  —  if  I  clear  out  my  own  faults.     Can  there  ?" 

The  girl's  absolute  ignoring  of  any  reason  for 
withholding  this  confidence  from  him  at  first  stag- 
gered Gaston,  and  then  steadied  him. 

Never  before  had  Joyce  so  appealed  to  him,  but 
the  sacredness  of  the  position  she  had  thrust  upon 
him  for  a  moment  appalled  him.  He  looked  intently 
at  the  girlish,  innocent  face.  What  he  saw  was  a 
blind  woman,  groping  through  the  child,  seeking 
a  reality  that  evaded  it. 

Never  greatly  impressed  with  his  own  importance, 
Gaston  became  cruelly  aware,  now,  that  in  a  marked 
way  he  still  was  the  one  being  in  the  girl's  world  to 
whom  she  looked  for  guidance.  The  knowledge 
made  him  withdrawn  for  an  instant. 

Drew  had  appealed  to  her  spirit  —  but  he  was 
elected  Father  Confessor,  Judge  and  General  Arbiter 
of  her  daily  life.  For  a  moment  Gaston's  sense  of 
the  ridiculous  was  stirred.  Suppose  they  —  those  — 
people  who  inhabited  the  Past,  and  peopled  the 
possible  Future  —  suppose  they  should  know  of 
this  ?  The  eyes  twinkled  dangerously,  but  the  girl 
in  the  glow  of  the  red  fire  was  terribly  in  earnest. 

"You  are  perfectly  happy,  Joyce?"     It  was  an 


124  __  JOYCE   OF   THE   NORTH  WOODS 

inane  question,  but  like  some  inane  questions  it 
touched  a  vital  spark. 

"Why,  if  I  get  on  the  top  of  the  things  that  might 
make  me  unhappy  if  they  conquered  me;  and  if  I 
shut  my  ears  and  eyes  —  why,  then,  I  guess  I'm 
perfectly  happy.  I  won't  let  myself  feel  sad  any 
more,  and  I  make  believe  a  lot  —  about  Jude. 
You  have  to  when  you've  been  married  long;  and 
I  guess  he  has  to  about  me.  So  you  see,  living  that 
way  it  comes  out  all  right.  And  then  when  you  have 
beautiful  things,  like  this  house,  and  the  books  and 
pictures,  and  some  one  ready  to  help  —  like  you  — 
why  those  things  I  just  hold  up  in  the  light  all  the 
time.  Isn't  that  being  happy  ?" 

"What  a  philosopher!"  Gaston  bent  forward 
and  again  pressed  the  slim  shoulder.  The  piteous- 
ness  of  this  young  wife  getting  her  happiness,  all 
unknowingly,  by  self-imposed  blindness  of  the  inner 
soul,  clutched  at  his  heart. 

"Hold  hard  to  that,  Joyce/'  he  said.  "Hold 
fast  to  that.  Let  all  the  light  in  that  you  can  upon 
your  blessings,  and  as  to  other  things,  why,  don't 
acknowledge  them!  You're  on  the  right  track, 
though  how  you've  struck  it  so  early  in  the  game, 
beats  me." 

"Well,"  Joyce  was  all  aglow,  "Mr.  Drew  helped. 
He  "was  so  funny  and  jolly.  Just  a  big  boy,  but  he 
had  the  queerest  ideas  about  things.  When  I  think 
of  him,  sick  and  weak  like  he  was,  and  yet  living  out 


JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS        125 

all  his  brave  thoughts  just  as  if  he  was  a  giant  — 
why,  sometimes  I  go  off  and  cry  by  myself." 

Jude  from  his  shadow  and  aloofness  was  staring 
dumbly  at  the  pair  opposite  while  the  low-spoken 
words  sank  into  his  drowsiness.  Jude  was  primitive. 
Actions  were  things  to  him;  things  that  admitted 
of  no  shades  of  meaning.  What  the  two  were  saying 
in  no  way  modified  the  situation.  Gaston's  hand 
was  caressing  his  wife  —  his  woman,  Jude  would 
have  expressed  it  —  and  the  bald  fact  was  enough. 

A  hot  anger  rose  in  him  —  an  anger  calculated 
to  urge  a  personal  assault  then  and  there,  upon  the 
two  who  dared,  in  his  own  house,  set  his  rights  — 
his  alone  —  aside. 

The  sleepy  eyes  widened  and  closed;  the  teeth 
showed  through  the  rough  beard  —  and  then,  like 
a  smarting  blow,  came  the  memory  of  all  that  Gas- 
ton  meant  to  him.  Money!  Gaston's  money. 
There  had  been  loans,  trifling,  but  many,  and  now 
Gaston  stood  ready  to  advance  money  for  this  new 
building  project.  Money  enough  to  make  Jude 
master  of  the  situation.  But  with  this  thought 
came  others  that  crushed  and  bruised  him. 

He  had  been  wrong.  It  was  not  his  wife's  folly 
alone  that  stood  between  him  and  her.  Gaston 
had  been  using  him.  He  was  lending  him  money  — 
hush  money!  And  while  he  had  gone  his  stupid 
way,  thinking  he  held  the  whip  hand  over  Joyce, 
the  two  had  had  their  laugh  at  him.  Money  has 


126        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

done  much  for  good  and  evil  in  this  world,  but  it 
saved  Gaston  that  night  from  a  desperate  attack. 

A  low  cunning  crept  into  Jude's  thoughts.  Very 
well,  two  or  ^hree  could  play  at  the  same  game. 

More  money!  More!  More!  and  who  knew? 
Why  he  might  make  a  choice  in  the  future  —  a 
choice  for  himself. 

He  settled  back  and  snored  long  and  deep.  Then 
he  stretched  and  yawned  and  gave  ample  notice  of 
his  advance,  in  order  that  the  conspirators  might 
cover  their  tracks. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes,  Gaston  was  leaning 
forward  with  clasped  hands  stretched  out  toward 
the  fading  glow,  and  Joyce,  crouched  upon  her 
stool  with  huddled  knees,  gave  no  sign  that  confusion 
held  part  in  her  thoughts. 

"Say,"  Jude  had  already  adopted  the  guise  of 
the  man  with  a  purpose,  "you  don't  suppose,  do 
you,  that  that  young  parson  is  coming  up  here  with 
any  idea  of  saving  souls  ?" 

"Only  his  own,  I  fancy."  Gaston  replied,  with- 
out turning.  "  He  wants  to  keep  his  soul  and  body 
together.  Seeking  his  lost  health,  you  know." 

"What  makes  him  fancy  he  lost  it  up  here?" 

"  He  doesn't.  He  lost  it  down  there  among  books, 
bad  air,  and  foolish  living.  His  physicians  tell  him 
his  only  chance  for  life  is  up  in  this  region.  Some 
day  more  of  the  big  doctors  will  shut  down  on  drugs 
and  give  Nature  a  try." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   127 

"Umph!"  Jude  shook  himself.  "Put  a  log  on," 
he  commanded  Joyce.  Then:  "He  preached  a 
durned  mess  of  nonsense  the  last  time  he  was  visiting 
us/'  he  continued.  "I  didn't  have  any  inclination 
to  take  his  guff  myself,  but  I  don't  half  like  the 
idee,  now  that  I've  slept  on  it,  of  his  coming  in  here 
as  a  disturbing  element,  so  to  speak.  Living  and 
minding  your  business,  is  one  thing;  interfering  with 
other  folks'  business  is  another.  Filmer,  he  told 
me  a  time  back  that  he  ain't  had  a  comfortable  spree 
since  that  young  feller  was  here.  He  sort  of  upset 
Jock's  stomach  with  his  gab.  The  women,  too, 
was  considerable  taken  with  him  —  he's  the  sort 
that  makes  fool  women  take  notice.  It  ain't  pleasant 
to  think  of  that  sissy-boy  actually  setting  up  house- 
keeping here,  and  reflecting  upon  old  established 
ways,  with  any  tommy-rot  about  clearing  trails 
and  such  foolishness." 

Joyce  smiled.  So  that  thought  rankled  in  more 
lives  than  her  own  ? 

"Going  to  retire  from  the  contractorship,  Jude  ?" 
Gaston  got  up  and  crossed  the  room  for  his  coat  and 
hat. 

"Not  much!"  Jude  rose  also.  "Only  beginning 
right  is  half  the  battle,  and  I  say  for  one,  and  Tate 
he  was  saying  the  same  this  morning,  that  we'd 
better  stamp  out  any  upraisings  in  the  start,  now 
that  it's  likely  to  be  a  staying  on,  'stead  of  a  visit. 
When  I  select  a  teacher,"  Jude  was  following  his 


128         JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

guest  to  the  outer  door,  "I  ain't  going  to  take  up 
with  no  white-livered  infant.  See  you  to-morrow, 
Mr.  Gaston?" 

"Oh,  certainly.  Good  night,  Jude.  Good  night, 
Joyce."  Gaston  looked  back  at  the  little  figure  by 
the  fire,  and  he  saw  that  the  upturned  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  Madonna  and  Child. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak,  Joyce  ?  Mr.  Gaston  is 
saying  good  night."  Jude's  words  reached  where 
Gaston's  had  failed.  The  girl  rose  stiffly. 

"  Good  night,"  she  said  slowly,  and  a  great  weari- 
ness was  in  her  face. 

When  Jude  returned  she  still  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  her  hands  hanging  limply  by  her 
side. 

Something  had  gone  out  from  her  life  with  Gas- 
ton's  going.  But  she  was  still  thrilled  and  her  soul 
was  sensitive  to  impressions. 

"What's  up?" 

Jude  came  close  to  her  and  stared  boldly  into 
the  large,  tired  eyes. 

"Nothing,  Jude." 

"You  ain't  so  spry  as  when  — there's  company." 

"It's  late  — you've  had  a  nap.     I'm  dead  tired." 

"That's  it,"  Jude  laughed  coarsely.  "I've  slept 
and  kept  out  of  mischief  —  you've  been  too  durned 
entertaining  —  you're  feeling  the  strain.  See  here, 
Joyce,  maybe  you  better  not  be  so  —  amusing  in 
the  future.  Maybe  you  better  leave  Gaston  to  me  — 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   129 

business  is  business  and  I  guess  we  can  do  without 
petticoats  in  this  camp." 

He  was  losing  control  of  himself. 

"Jude,"  Joyce  came  close  and  tried  to  put  her 
hands  on  her  husband's  shoulders.  "Jude,  I  want 
you  to  pay  Mr.  Gaston  back  as  soon  as  you  can. 
It's  been  on  my  mind  for  quite  a  spell.  We  must 
owe  him  a  lot.  How  much,  Jude  ?" 

"None  of  your  —  durned  business." 

"And  Jude  —  don't  borrow  any  more.  I  know 
Mr.  Drew  would  advance  anything  for  the  building. 
His  family  is  terribly  rich.  Mr  Gaston  knows 
about  them.  I'd  rather  owe  Mr.  Drew  than  Mr. 
Gaston.  Please,  Jude!" 

For  a  moment  the  sweet,  quivering  face  put  forth 
its  appeal  to  the  lower  nature  of  the  man.  The 
girl  was  young  enough,  and  new  enough  to  sway 
Jude  after  a  fashion,  but  the  charm  died  almost  at 
birth. 

"See  here."  Jude  slipped  from  the  clinging 
hands,  and  glared  angrily.  "You  ain't  ever  properly 
learned  your  place.  You  better  let  go  any  fool 
idee  that  you  can  budge  me  with  your  wiles.  I  don't 
have  to  buy  your  favours — they're  mine.  What 
I  do,  I  do,  and  you  take  what  I  choose  to  let  you 
have.  See  ?  If  you  get  more  than  what  is  right- 
fully yours,  don't  get  sot  up  with  the  notion  I  don't 
know  what  I'm  permitting.  I  guess  I've  got  to  let 
you  see  what  you're  up  against  a  little  plainer.  I 


130        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

had  a  kind  of  dim  idee  that  your  schooling  and 
book-learning  made  you  a  bit  keener  than  most 
about  the  real  facts  of  the  case,  but  you're  all  alike. 
Don't  you  question  me  in  the  future,  girl,  and  you 
go  your  way  —  the  way  I  let  you  go  —  and  be  thank- 
ful, but  don't  you  forget  you  and  me  is  man  and 
wife,  and  that  means  just  one  durned  thing  in  St. 
Ange  and  only  one." 

Joyce  staggered  back  as  if  the  man  before  her  had 
dealt  her  a  blow. 

What  had  happened  ?  Then  she  remembered 
that  Jude  was  always  irritable  when  he  had  been 
roused  from  sleep,  or  when  he  was  hungry. 

The  blindness  was  mercifully  clouding  her  soul 
now;  but  its  duration  was  brief.  It  only  gave  her 
time  to  stand  upright. 

"Did  you  think  I  was  asleep  to-night?"  Jude 
almost  hissed  the  words. 

The  suddenness  of  the  question  had  all  the  evil 
power  of  reducing  the  girl  to  an  appearance  of 
guilt. 

"You  were  asleep,"  she  whispered  back. 

Jude  laughed  cruelly. 

"With  my  eyes  opened,"  he  snarled —  "It  pays 
to  seem  asleep,  when  you  want  to  catch  on  to  some 
kind  of  doings.  Your  old  man,  Joyce,  ain't  half 
the  fool  you'd  like  him  to  be.  I  wasn't  napping  when 
Billy  Falster  blabbed  his  warning.  I  wasn't  napping 
when  I  saw  that  hand-holding  and  kissing  from  the 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        131 

top  of  Beacon  Hill.  I  wasn't  snoozing  that  night 
when  you  went  crawling  to  Gaston's  shack  just 
after  you'd  given  your  word  to  me,  and"  -  Jude 
had  worked  himself  into  a  quivering  rage  -  "I 
wasn't  sleeping  when  you  and  him  sat  there  to-night, 
blast  ye!" 

The  convincing  knowledge  broke  upon  Joyce 
with  full  force.  She  would  never  be  able  to  ignore 
the  fact  again.  Try  as  she  might,  dream  as  she 
could,  she  was  but  a  St.  Ange  woman,  and  he  a 
St.  Ange  man. 

There  was  only  one  way.  She  must  deal  with 
the  rudest  of  materials. 

"Jude,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  pay  Mr.  Gaston 
back  all  that  you  owe  him  —  I'll  stint  here  in  the 
house  —  and  I'll  promise  never  to  speak  to  him 
again.  Could  anything  be  fairer  than  that  ?" 

She  was  in  deadly  earnest;  but  Jude  laughed  in 
her  face. 

A  fear  grew  in  the  girl's  heart  at  the  sound.  Not 
even  an  appeal  to  his  selfishness  could  move  him. 
She  had  lost  the  poor  little  power  she  once  possessed. 
He  did  not  care!  And  when  that  happened  with  a 
man  like  Jude  —  well,  there  was  reason  for  fear. 

"I'm  the  boss,  girl,  and  you  better  hold  to  that 
knowledge.  Keep  your  books,  your  pictures  and 
what  not  as  long  as  I  say  you  can,  and  let  that  do 
you  for  what  7  am  getting  out  of  it.  See  ?" 

"Yes  — I  see!"    And  so  she  did,  poor  girl;  and 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

it  was  a  long  barren  stretch  on  ahead  that  she  saw. 
A  stretch  with  hideous  possibilities,  unless  luck 
were  with  her. 

"Don't  you  let  on."  Jude  was  striding  toward 
the  bedchamber  beyond.  "I  guess  you're  smart 
enough  to  hold  your  tongue,  though.  Pile  on  a 
log  or  two,  before  you  turn  in;  and  you  better  draw 
the  shutters  to  the  north  window  —  it's  getting 
splitting  cold." 

Joyce  turned  to  obey  the  commands.  Not  slav- 
ishly; after  all  it  was  but  part  of  her  woman-task. 
Jude  feeling  it  necessary  to  tell  her  was  the  lash. 
It  was  cruelly  superfluous  —  that  was  all. 

She  laid  two  heavy  logs  on  the  red  embers,  and 
stooped  to  brush  the  ashes  from  the  hearth.  Then 
she  went  to  the  north  window  and  raised  the  sash. 
Before  she  drew  the  shutters  she  stood  and  looked 
out  into  the  brilliant  night. 

Black  and  white.  Sharp,  clean  and  magically 
glittering  it  all  looked;  and  the  keen  cold  cleared 
the  fear  and  fever  from  her  head  and  heart. 

Yes,  off  there  in  the  distance  Gaston  was  enter- 
ing the  pine  thicket  through  which  his  private  path 
ran.  He  must  have  walked  slowly  —  or  had  all 
this  new  knowledge  come  so  rapidly  ? 

Gaston  stood  still  at  the  entrance  to  the  woods. 
Was  he  looking  back  ? 

Then  something  occurred.  Once  or  twice  before 
Joyce  had  been  conscious  of  this.  Something  seemed 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        133 

to  go  out  from  her  and  follow  Gaston.  She,  or 
that  strange  something,  escaped  the  fear  and  smoth- 
ering closeness  of  the  little  house.  It  was  free  and 
happy  out  there  with  Gaston  in  the  night.  He  was 
strong  —  stronger  than  anybody  in  St.  Ange.  Noth- 
ing could  really  happen  while  he  was  near.  She  saw 
his  smile;  felt  his  compelling  touch  —  no,  not  even 
Jude  would  dare  hurt  her,  or  go  too  far. 

Gaston  passed  into  the  dim  thicket.  Joyce,  too 
seemed  to  be  going  on  quite  happily  and  lightly, 
when 

"I  say,  Joyce,  shut  that  winder,  can't  you  ?" 

A  silence.  As  Joyce  had  followed  a  certain  call 
the  night  she  had  promised  to  marry  Jude,  and  had 
gone  to  Gaston's  house,  so  now  she  was  going  on  — 
and  on  —  and 

"Joyce!"  At  last  the  real  clutched  the  unreal. 
The  girl,  for  the  first  time,  was  conscious  of  the 
biting  cold.  She  shivered  and  seemed  to  travel 
back  to  that  rough  call  over  frozen  distances.  With 
stiff  fingers  she  drew  the  heavy  wooden  shutters 
together  and  lowered  the  sash.  Then  feeling  her 
way  with  outstretched  hands,  like  a  bewildered 
child,  she  made  her  way  to  the  inner  chamber  and 
Jude. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  following  June  Joyce's  little  boy  was 
born.  It  was  a  most  inconvenient  time 
for  him  to  make  his  appearance. 

The  late  spring  had  delayed  the  logging  season. 
The  winter  had  been  a  long-continued,  cold  one; 
the  men  at  the  different  camps  had  fretted  under 
the  postponed  ending  of  their  jobs,  and  severe  dis- 
cipline had  been  necessary  in  more  than  one  camp. 
Hillcrest's  ideas  of  decency  had  been  deeply  out- 
raged; its  courts  of  justice  had  been  kept  busy  by 
men,  who,  unable  to  resist  temptation  after  restraint 
had  at  last  been  removed,  carried  lawlessness  to 
an  unprecedented  excess. 

The  river,  too,  with  the  depravity  of  inanimate 
things,  had  taken  that  occasion  to  leap  all  bounds 
and  run  wild  where  never  before  it  had  ventured. 
Not  being  content  in  carrying  its  legitimate  burden 
of  logs  to  the  lower  towns,  it  bore  away,  one  black 
night,  more  than  half  of  the  lumber  that  Jude  had 
piled  near  the  clearing  for  Ralph  Drew's  new  house. 

This  occurrence  sent  Jude  into  one  of  the  fits  of 
sullen  frenzy  which  were  becoming  more  and  more 
common  to  him.  He  had  been  obliged  to  track 
the  stolen  lumber  many  miles  to  the  south,  seize 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       135 

it  there,  and  make  arrangements  for  bringing  it 
back.  This  absence  from  the  scene  of  his  life  battle, 
turned  Jude  into  a  veritable  fiend  for  the  time  being. 
He  had  enough  self-confidence  to  believe  he  could 
hold  things  in  his  own  hands,  when  his  hands  and 
eyes  were  on  the  spot,  but  with  absence  and  dis- 
tance —  bah ! 

Many  a  horse  and  man  suffered  that  spring  from 
Jude's  evil  temper. 

Whether  Gaston  was  aware  of  conditions  or  not, 
who  could  tell  ?  He  took  a  keen  delight  in  the  manual 
labour  of  working  on  Drew's  house.  He  and  Filmer, 
with  or  without  Jude,  hammered,  sawed  and  made 
rough  designs  that  filled  their  days  with  honest  toil 
and  brought  healthy  sleep  to  their  tired  bodies. 

And  just  when  the  early  wild  flowers  were  timidly 
showing  themselves,  after  the  winter's  long  reign, 
little  Malcolm  Lauzoon  opened  his  eyes  upon  the 
scene. 

How  could  he  know  that  the  festivities  at  the 
Black  Cat  were  interrupted  by  Jude's  necessary 
absences,  and  Isa  Tate's  voluntary  visits  to  Joyce's 
home  ? 

Leon  Tate,  good-naturedly  reaping  a  belated 
prosperity,  had  insisted  that  his  wife  serve  Joyce 
how  and  as  she  might. 

Jude  was  becoming  a  man  to  be  considered.  He 
evidently  had  a  future,  and  the  tavern's  attractions 
had  never  held  a  sure  power  over  Jude.  Here  was 


136       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Leon's  opportunity  for  putting  Jude  under  obliga- 
tions. 

Tate  thought  fit  to  place  himself  and  his  wife  on 
a  social  equality  with  the  Lauzoons.  So  Isa  was  in 
command  when  small  Malcolm  arrived. 

It  was  an  early  June  morning,  after  a  night  of 
black  horror,  when  Joyce  became  aware  of  the 
singing  of  birds  out  of  doors,  and  a  strange,  new 
song  in  her  heart. 

The  latter  sensation  almost  stifled  her.  She 
tried  to  raise  her  head  and  look  about  the  room,  but 
the  effort  made  her  faint.  She  waited  a  moment, 
then  slowly  turned  her  head  on  the  pillow  and  opened 
her  eyes.  There  by  the  low,  open  window  sat  Isa 
Tate,  swaying  back  and  forth  in  the  old-fashioned 
rocker,  with  something  on  her  lap. 

Again  the  strange  faintness  overpowered  Joyce, 
and  the  big  tears  rolled  down  her  face.  It  had  not, 
then,  been  all  a  hideous  nightmare  ?  Something 
sweet  and  real  had  remained  after  the  terror  and 
agony  had  taken  flight  ? 

"Isa!"  So  low  and  trembling  was  the  call  that 
Isa,  drowsing  luxuriously  as  she  rocked  to  and  fro, 
took  no  heed. 

It  was  many  a  day  since  she,  detached  from  the 
demands  of  home  cares,  could  make  herself  so  com- 
fortable. 

"Isa!" —  and  then  Isa  heard. 

''What  is  it? "she  turned  a  steady  glance  toward 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        137 

the  bed.  She  did  not  intend  that  Joyce  should  be 
exacting.  Women  were  apt  to  be  unless  the  nurse 
was  rigid.  "Do  you  want  anything  ?" 

"Oh!  Isa  is  that  —  my  baby?"  There  was 
such  a  thrill  in  the  voice  that  Isa  was  at  once  con- 
vinced that  Joyce  was  delirious. 

She  was  going  to  have  her  hands  full.  A  mere 
baby,  to  Isa,  was  no  cause  for  that  tone,  and  the 
glorified  look. 

"I  guess  there  ain't  any  one  else  going  to  put  in 
a  claim  for  him,"  she  replied  with  a  vague  sense  of 
humorously  calming  the  patient. 

"Him!"  Joyce's  tears  again  overflowed.  "Did 
you  say  'him'  Isa  ?" 

"There,  there!  do  be  still  now,  Joyce,  and  take 
a  nap.  You  won't  have  any  too  much  time  for 
lazing.  You  better  make  the  most  of  it." 

"It's  a  boy.  Oh!  It  seems  too,  too  heavenly. 
My  little  boy!  Isa,  is  — is  — he  beautiful  ?" 

And  now  no  doubts  remained  in  Isa's  mind.  She 
must  pacify  this  very  trying  case. 

"  'Bout  as  beautiful  as  they  make  *em,"  she  said 
slowly,  and  tried  to  remember  what  was  given  to 
patients  when  they  became  unmanageable. 

"Does  —  does  he  look  —  like  -  "  the  words  came 
pantingly  — "like  the  picture  in  the  other  room?" 

Isa  was  sitting  opposite  the  door  leading  into  the 
living  room,  and  her  eyes  fell,  as  Joyce  spoke,  upon 
the  Madonna  and  Child. 


138        JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS 

Then,  in  spite  of  her  anxiety  and  weariness,  Isa 
laughed.  The  entire  train  of  events  since  her  arrival 
the  day  before  had  appealed  to  her  latent  sense  of 
humour. 

"  Oh !  exactly,"  she  answered  and  rolling  the  baby 
in  a  blanket  she  strode  over  to  the  bed,  and  placed 
him  hastily  beside  Joyce. 

"There,"  she  said  soothingly;  "now  lay  still  or 
you'll  hurt  the  little  beauty.  I'm  going  to  fix  some- 
thing comforting  to  drink." 

She  was  gone.  In  the  mystery  of  the  still  room 
and  the  early  morning,  Joyce  was  alone  with  her 
little  son! 

As  she  felt,  so  all  motherhood,  as  God  designed 
it,  should  feel.  Before  the  acceptance  of  the  wonder- 
ful gift,  motherhood  stood  entranced.  Fear  and 
awe  hold  even  love  in  abeyance.  Into  poor,  loving, 
human  hands  a  soul  —  an  eternal  soul  —  was 
entrusted.  No  wonder  even  mother-love  held  back 
before  it  consecrated  itself  to  the  sacred  and  ever- 
lasting responsibility. 

Joyce  only  dumbly  felt  this.  All  that  she  was 
conscious  of  was  a  fear  that  her  joy,  when  she  looked 
upon  the  blessed  little  face,  would  kill  her,  and  so 
end  what  had  but  begun. 

A  new  and  marvellous  strength  came  to  her.  She 
raised  herself  upon  her  elbow  and  reverently  drew 
the  corner  of  the  blanket  from  the  tiny  head. 

Suddenly  the  birds   ceased   singing.     The   June 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   139 

morning  was  enveloped  in  a  black  pall.  The  omi- 
nous stillness  that  precedes  an  outburst  of  the  ele- 
ments held  breath  in  check. 

Joyce  was  perfectly  conscious.  In  the  hideous 
blackness  she  saw  her  baby's  face  clear  and  dis- 
tinct, and  with  firm  fingers  she  tore  the  wrappings 
from  the  small  body  —  she  must  see  all,  all. 

Misshapen  and  grim  in  its  old,  sinister  expression 
of  feature,  the  baby  lay  exposed.  The  face  was 
grotesque  in  its  weazened  fixity;  the  little  legs  were 
twisted,  and  the  thin  body  lay  crooked  among  its 
blankets.  The  big  eyes  stared  into  the  horrified 
ones  above  them  as  if  pleading  for  mercy.  The 
sight  turned  Joyce  ill. 

"In  spite  of  all,"  the  stare  seemed  to  challenge, 
"can  you  accept  me?" 

In  that  moment  when  the  bitter  cup  was  pressed 
to  motherhood's  lips,  Joyce  received  the  holiest 
sacrament  that  God  ever  bestows.  In  divine  strength 
she  accepted  her  child.  This  little,  blighted  creature 
would  have  no  one  but  her  to  look  to  —  to  find  life 
through.  All  that  it  was  to  receive,  until  it  went 
out  of  life,  must  come  first  through  her.  Should 
she  fail  it  ? 

With  fumbling  and  untrained  hands  she  drew 
it  to  her,  and  pressed  it  against  her  breast.  With 
the  touch  of  the  small  body  at  her  heart,  the  dawn 
crept  back  into  the  room,  and  from  afar  the  birds 
sang. 


i4o       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

With  all  her  striving,  poor  Joyce  had  not  elimi- 
nated from  the  baby's  life  the  inheritance  of  others' 
sins.  He  iiad  come,  bearing  a  heavy  load  of  disease 
and  deformity.  All  that  was  left  for  her  to  do  now, 
was  to  lift  the  cross  as  she  might  from  this  stunted 
and  saddened  life,  and  walk  beside  him  to  the 
farther  side. 

The  poor,  little  wrinkled  mouth  was  nestling 
against  the  mother-breast.  Instinct  was  alive  in 
the  child.  Joyce  laughed.  At  first  tremblingly, 
then  shrilly.  Suddenly  she  began  to  sing  a  lullaby, 
and  the  tune  was  interrupted  by  laughs  and  moans. 

Higher  and  higher  the  fever  rose.  Isa  Tate, 
beside  herself  with  fright,  screamed  for  help,  and  for 
days  Jude  Lauzoon's  house  was  the  meeting  place 
of  Life  and  Death;  then  Life  triumphed,  and  people 
breathed  relievedly. 

"A  homely  young-un  often  makes  handsome 
old  bones,"  comforted  Isa.  Now  that  Joyce  was 
creeping  back  from  the  dangers  that  had  beset  her, 
Isa  felt  a  glow  of  pride  and  interest.  She  was  an 
honourable  diploma  to  Isa's  skill  as  nurse.  In 
the  future,  Mrs.  Tate  was  to  feel  a  new  importance. 
She  was  assuming  the  airs  of  a  woman  who  has 
learned  the  market  value  of  her  services.  Tate 
was  to  reap  the  effect  of  this  later. 

"Oh!  It  doesn't  matter  much  with  boys,"  Joyce 
answered,  indifferently.  "A  girl  would  have  been 
different." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   141 

"That's  a  sensible  way  to  look  at  it,"  Isa  agreed. 
"I  often  think  that  a  man  with  good  looks  has  just 
that  much  temptation  to  be  a  bigger  fool  than  what 
he  otherwise  would  be.  It's  one  agin  'em  which- 
ever way  you  take  it.  They  don't  need  k>oks.  They 
gets  what  they  wants,  anyway,  and  if  they  are 
side-tracked  by  their  countenances,  it's  ten  to  one 
they  will  get  distracted  in  their  aims,  and  make 
more  trouble  than  usual. 

"Now  that  I  hark  back,  the  only  men  as  I  can 
remember  that  amounted  to  enough  to  make  you 
willing  to  overlook  their  cussedness,  was  men  as 
had  a  handicap  in  looks. 

"There  was  Pierre  Laval's  brother  Damon.  He 
was  born  with  twelve  toes,  twelve  fingers  —  two 
extry  thumbs  they  was  —  and  four  front  teeth. 

"He  certainly  was  the  most  audacious  ugly 
young-un  I  ever  set  eyes  on.  I  wasn't  much 
more  than  a  girl,  to  be  sure,  when  I  saw  him 
first,  but  I  went  into  yelling  hysterics,  and  took 
to  my  bed.  Pierre  was  handsome  —  and,  you 
know  how  he  ended  ?  Damon,  he  gritted  his 
teeth  —  and  in  his  case  he  could  do  that  early  — • 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  make  good  for  his  de- 
ficiencies —  if  you  can  say  that  'bout  one  as 
had  more  rather  than  less  than  Nature  generally 
bestows.  Land!  the  learning  that  child  was 
capable  of  absorbing!  Hillcrest  School  just  sunk 
into  him  like  he  was  a  sponge.  When  he  got  all 


142        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

he  could  over  there,  he  just  walked  off  as  natura: 
as  could  be,  without  a  cent  to  his  name  —  and  they 
do  say,  so  I've  heard,  that  down  the  state  they  set 
an  awful  store  by  his  knowledge  of  stars  and  moons 
and  such-like.  And  Mick  Falstar,  cousin  to  Pete  — " 

"Never  mind,  Isa."  Joyce  looked  wan  and  nerve- 
less. These  tales  only  accentuated  the  agony  she 
felt  whenever  she  was  forced  to  concentrate  her 
thoughts  upon  actualities. 

When  she  was  left  to  herself,  she  was  beginning 
to  regain  the  power  of  ignoring  facts  and  living 
among  ideals.  She  was  growing  more  and  more 
able  to  see  a  little  spiritual  baby  at  her  breast  — 
a  beautiful  child.  And  with  that  vision  growing 
clearer  she  felt  her  own  spirit  gaining  strength  for 
flights  into  a  future  where  this  little  son  of  hers, 
borne  aloft  by  her  determined  will  and  purpose, 
should  hold  his  own  among  men.  Surely,  she 
thought,  God  would  not  cripple  mind,  body  and 
soul.  God  would  be  content  with  testing  her  love 
by  the  twisted  body.  The  mind  and  soul  would  be 
—  glorious ! 

Day  by  day,  the  young  mother,  creeping  back 
into  the  warm,  summer  life,  watched  for  intelligence 
to  awaken  in  the  grim  little  face;  the  first  flying 
signal  of  the  overpowering  intellect  that  was  to 
make  recompense  for  all  that  had  been  withheld. 

The  misshapen  body  was  always  swathed  ir>  dis- 
guising wrappings;  even  the  claw-like,  groping 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        143 

hands  were  held  under  blankets  when  curious  eyes 
were  near.  Isa  had  won  Joyce's  everlasting  grati- 
tude by  holding  her  tongue  regarding  the  child's 
bodily  deformity;  and  the  Hillcrest  doctor,  who  had 
been  summoned  when  the  fever  grew,  did  not  con- 
sider the  circumstance  important  enough  to  weigh 
on  his  memory  when  once  the  payment  for  his 
services  was,  to  his  surprise,  forthcoming. 

But  the  sad,  little  old  face  with  its  fringe  of  straight 
black  hair!  That  must  be  public  property,  and  its 
piteous  appeal  had  no  power  beyond  the  mother, 
to  stay  the  cruel  jest  and  jibe. 

"Say,  Jude,"  Peter  Falstar  had  said  in  offering 
his  maudlin  congratulations,  "what's  that  you  got 
up  to  your  place  —  a  baby  or  a  Chinese  idol  ? 
That  comes  of  having  a  handsome  wife,  what  has 
notions  beyond  what  women  can  digest." 

Jude  did  not  take  this  pleasantry  as  one  might 
suppose  he  would.  His  own  primitive  aversion  to 
the  strange,  deformed  child  made  him  weakly  sensi- 
tive. He  recoiled  from  Falstar's  gibe  with  a  sneaking 
shame  he  dared  not  defend  by  a  physical  outburst. 

"He  ain't  a  very  handsome  chap,"  he  returned 
foolishly,  "don't  favour  either  father  or  mother  — 
hey?" 

Gaston  overheard  this  and  other  similar  witti- 
cisms, and  his  blood  rose  hot  within  him. 

The  cruelty  and  indelicacy  of  it  all  made  him  hate, 
where,  heretofore,  he  had  but  felt  contempt. 


144        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

He  realized  most  keenly  that  in  his  lonely  lire 
among  the  pines  the  few  interests  and  friendships 
that  he  had  permitted  himself  were  deeper  than  he 
had  believed. 

Jock  Filmer,  during  the  closer  contact  of  daily 
labour,  had  become  to  him  a  rude  prototype  of  a 
Jonathan.  They  had  found  each  other  out,  and 
behind  the  screen  that  divided  them  from  others, 
they  held  communion  sacred  to  themselves.  They 
read  together  in  Gaston's  shack.  They  had,  at 
times,  skimmed  dangerously  near  the  Pasts  that 
both,  for  reasons  of  their  own,  kept  shrouded.  After 
one  of  these  close  calls  of  confidence,  they  would 
drift  apart  for  a  time  —  afraid  of  each  other  —  but 
the  growing  attraction  they  felt  was  strengthening 
after  the  three  or  four  years  wherein  an  unconscious 
foundation  had  been  laid. 

Then  Gaston,  too,  realized  that  he  had  banked 
much  upon  the  marriage  he  had  brought  about 
between  Jude  and  Joyce.  In  saving  himself  from 
temptation,  he  felt  he  had  sacrificed  the  girl,  unless 
he  could  bring  into  her  life  an  element  that  would 
satisfy  her  blind  gropings. 

To  argue  that  in  saving  himself  he  had  saved 
her,  was  no  comfort.  He  had  not  been  called  upon 
to  elect  himself  arbiter  of  Joyce's  future.  No; 
to  put  it  baldly,  in  his  loneliness  he  had  dabbled  in 
affairs  that  did  not  concern  him  —  and  he  must  pay 
for  his  idiocy. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   145 

To  that  end  he  had,  at  first,  put  himself  and  his 
private  funds  at  Jude's  disposal.  He  uad  had 
hopes  that  by  so  doing  he  might  help  Jude  to  decent 
manliness.  But  that  hope  soon  died.  Jude,  lazy 
with  the  inertness  of  a  too  sharply  defined  ancestry, 
became  rapidly  a  well-developed  parasite. 

Even  when  he  accepted  the  contract  to  build 
Ralph  Drew's  house,  he  had  done  so  from  two 
motives.  By  this  means  he  could,  he  found, 
command  more  of  Gaston's  money  than  in  any 
other  way,  and  by  assuming  the  responsibility  he 
placed  himself  on  a  social  pinnacle  that  satisfied 
his  vanity.  He  became  a  man  of  importance. 
Gaston  and  Filmer,  glad  with  the  intelligence  of 
men  who  know  the  value  of  work,  took  the  actual 
burden  upon  themselves.  Lauzoon  had  the  empty 
glory;  they  had  the  blessing  of  toil  that  brought 
their  faculties  into  play,  and  gave  them  relief  from 
somberer  thoughts.  But  Gaston  was  too  normal 
a  man  not  to  consider  the  gravity  of  conditions  that 
were  developing.  His  hopes  of  Jude  had  long  ago 
sunk  into  a  contemptuous  understanding  of  the 
shiftless  fellow.  He  had,  however,  believed  that 
the  hold  he  had  upon  him  insured  a  comparatively 
easy  life  for  Joyce.  This,  too,  he  now  saw  was  a 
false  belief. 

He  knew  the  girl.  He  knew  that  mere  housing 
and  assured  food  were  little  to  her,  if  deeper  things 
failed. 


146        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

It  was  this  essentially  spiritual  side  of  Joyce  that 
had  interested  him  and  appealed  to  him  from  the 
beginning. 

One  by  one  he  gave  up  his  hopes  for  her  happiness. 
He  saw  that  Jude  was  impossible  long  before  Joyce 
did;  then  he  put  his  faith  in  the  little  child — and 
now  that  had  failed!  Poor  girl!  he  thought; 
and  in  the  inner  chamber  of  his  shack  with  the 
doors  and  shutters  barred,  the  pistol  lying  at  hand 
upon  his  desk,  he  cursed  himself  for  a  fool  who 
had  tried  to  enrich  his  own  wasted  life  with  an 
interest  in  the  lives  of  others  that  had  brought  about 
as  bad  a  state  of  affairs  as  any  meddler  could  well 
conceive. 

Then  he  grew  reckless.  Things  couldn't  be 
much  worse,  anyway,  and  if  he  might  brighten  that 
dull  life  in  the  little  house,  he'd  brighten  it  and  Jude 
be  —  the  laugh  that  Gaston  laughed  was  perhaps 
better  than  the  word  he  might  have  used  had  he 
finished  his  sentence. 

There  was  the  regular  income  from  the  outer 
world;  as  long  as  that  was  at  Gaston's  command 
he  felt  he  could  control  Lauzoon,  and  who  else 
mattered,  except  Filmer  ?  Well,  Filmer  had  sense 
to  keep  his  opinions  to  himself  —  although  the 
look  in  his  eyes  when  he  disapproved  of  anything, 
was  unpleasant  and  —  impertinent. 

A  clam  like  Filmer  had  no  right  to  personal  opin- 
ions of  other  folks'  conduct.  Unless  he  let  light  in 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        14; 

upon  his  own  excuse  for  being,  he  should  withhold 
condemnation. 

So  Gaston  spent  his  days'  ends  on  Jude's  little 
piazza,  or  in  the  bay  window  of  the  sitting  room 
when  the  air  was  too  cool  for  the  baby  snuggling 
against  the  young  mother's  breast. 

Gaston  brought  his  fiddle  along,  and  those  were 
wonderful  tunes  he  drew  from  the  strings.  Some- 
times he  explained  what  they  meant,  his  words 
running  along  in  monotone  that  yet  kept  time  to 
the  alluring  strains. 

Joyce  smiled,  and  her  ready  tears  came,  but  the 
colour  was  coming  back  into  her  beautiful  face; 
the  brooding  eyes  once  again  had  the  glint  of  sweet 
mischief  in  them,  and  the  lip  curled  away  from  the 
pretty  teeth. 

She  had  never  been  so  beautiful  before.  Living 
in  the  ideal  where  her  baby  was  concerned  made 
it  perilously  easy  for  her  to  live  ideally  in  all  other 
ways. 

Jude  became  a  blurred  reality.  He  was,  when 
she  thought  of  him  at  all,  endowed  with  the  graces 
and  attractiveness  of  Gaston.  Joyce  did  not  con- 
sider Jude  as  he  really  existed.  She  smiled  vaguely 
at  him  —  his  personality  now,  neither  annoyed  her 
nor  appealed  to  her.  While  living  with  him  out- 
wardly, she  was  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  spirit- 
ually living  with  Gaston.  For  she  gave  to  Jude 
the  attributes  that  made  Gaston  her  tanj,  just  aa 


148        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

she  gave  to  her  poor,  twisted  baby  the  beautiful 
contours  and  heavenly  beauty  of  the  Madonna's 
exquisite  Child. 

The  summer  throbbed  and  glowed  in  St.  Ange. 

Was  it  possible  that  things  were  as  they  always 
had  been  ?  Jared  Birkdale  kept  his  distance  and 
silence;  and  Joyce  grew  to  forget  him. 

The  Black  Cat  flourished,  and  Jude  made  no 
attempt  to  curb  his  growing  desire  for  popularity 
there.  He  was  developing  a  talent  for  instructing 
his  elders,  and  laying  down  the  law.  He  was 
endeavoring  to  fill  Birkdale's  place.  Jared  had 
always  been  the  tavern  orator.  Some  one  has  to 
occupy  that  pedestal  in  all  such  places,  while  the 
others  enjoy  their  pipes  and  mugs  in  speculative 
contemplation. 

But  nothing  was  as  it  had  been  with  Joyce.  She 
had  the  look  of  one  on  the  threshold  of  big  happen- 
ings. Her  pale  beauty  had  a  new  glow.  The 
thinness  of  girlhood  had  given  place  to  a  slender 
womanhood,  all  grace  and  charm. 

She  was  rarely  seen  without  her  baby  on  her 
bosom.  Even  in  her  work  she  managed  to  bear 
him  on  one  arm. 

Away  from  her,  he  wailed  pitifully  and  almost 
constantly;  while  pressed  against  the  warm,  loving 
heart  he  sank  into  comfort  and  peace.  When  he 
was  awake  his  elfish  eyes  were  fixed  in  solemn  stare 
upon  the  mother-face.  Not  knowingly  nor  indif- 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        149 

ferently,  but  intently,  as  if  from  the  depths  of 
past  experience  he  was  wondering  and  endeavouring 
to  understand. 

One  evening,  and  such  an  evening  it  was  in 
late  July,  Joyce,  in  her  low  rocker,  the  baby  on  her 
knees,  sat  on  the  piazza  facing  westward,  when 
Gaston  came  around  the  house,  fiddle  in  hand. 

"Alone,  Joyce?"  It  was  an  idle  question,  but  it 
would  do. 

"Yes;  Jude  seems  to  have  a  lot  to  do  about  Mr. 
Drew's  house,  you  know." 

Joyce  still  kept  up  a  pretty  defence  of  Jude. 
Not  that  it  was  in  the  least  necessary,  or  even  sensible, 
but  it  had  its  part  in  her  detached  and  dreamy  life. 

"The  house  is  about  finished,"  Gaston  replied, 
tuning  up  the  fiddle.  "And  then  what?"  he  said, 
placing  the  instrument. 

"I  wonder?"  Joyce  looked  down  happily  upon 
her  child. 

It  did  not  greatly  matter,  for  now  Gaston  had 
struck  into  one  of  those  compelling  airs,  so  intensely 
sweet  and  melodious  that  it  all  but  hurt;  and  the 
red  sunset  trembled  as  the  tear-dimmed  eyes  beheld 
it. 

The  tune  changed.  It  danced  elfishly,  and 
trippingly  —  for  very  joy  it  made  one  laugh.  The 
tear  rolled  down  Joyce's  face,  as  the  smile  replaced 
it,  and  dropped  upon  the  thin  cheek  of  the  baby. 
He  did  not  flinch,  and  the  staring  eyes  did  not  falter, 


150        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

but   something    drew    the   mother's   attention.     As 
the  final  tripping  notes  died  away,  she  said  softly. 

"Mr.  Gaston,  just  look  —  at  the  baby." 

The  child  had  rarely  drawn  them  together. 
It  was  to  make  her  forget  the  child  —  and  other 
things  —  that  Gaston  called  so  often. 

He  came  now,  and  bent  over  the  two. 

"Does  —  he  —  look  —  just  the  same  to  you  ?" 
she  asked. 

"Why,  yes!"  Gaston  repressed  the  desire  to 
laugh.  "You  see  babies  are  not  much  in  my  line. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  such  a  little  fellow  before. 
They  look  about  the  same  for  a  long  time,  don't 
they?" 

"Oh!  no.  They  change  every  day,  and  many 
times  during  the  day.  I  weighed  baby  to-day," 
she  faltered,  "  and  do  you  know,  he  weighs  less  than 
when  he  was  born !" 

"The  ungrateful  little  heathen!" 

"I'm  afraid  —  I'm  not  a  good  mother."  The 
sweet  face  quivered.  "And  I  want  to  be  that  more 
than  anything  else  on  earth.  You  see  if  I  can  get 
him  through  —  through  this  awful  time  when  I 
can't  tell  just  what  might  be  the  matter  —  it  will 
be  easy  enough.  But  young  babies  are  so  —  so  - 
unreal.  You  don't  know  whether  you've  got  them  to 
keep  or  not.  They  seem  to  be  kind  of  holding  on  to 
another  life,  while  they  clutch  this.  A  good  mother 
knows  how  to  unloose  them  from  that  other  hold." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   151 

Gaston  was  touched  by  the  yearning  in  the  low 
voice,  but  the  weazened  face  of  the  child  repelled 
him,  even  while  it  attracted  him. 

"  Would  it  be  so  —  so  terrible  if  he  did  not  let 
go  that  —  other  hold  ?" 

It  was  a  stupid  thing  to  say,  and  Gaston  despised 
himself  for  being  so  brutal  when  he  saw  the  look 
of  horror  on  the  upturned  face. 

"Terrible?"  Joyce  gasped.  "Why,  if  —  if  he 
should  leave  me,  I  couldn't  live.  You  don't  know 
how  it  seems  to  have  him  warm  and  little  and  soft 
against  your  heart.  The  whole  world  would  be 
empty  —  empty,  until  it  would  kill  me  with  the 
emptiness  —  and  I'd  always  think,  you  know,  he'd 
found  out  I  wasn't  fit  to  be  his  mother.  It's  a  fool- 
ish fancy,  but  you  know,  Mr.  Gaston,  I  think  they 
come  to  try  us  mothers  —  if  they  find  us  out  —  not 
fit  —  they  don't  stay.  Such  a  lot  of  babies  don't 
stay!" 

"Why  Joyce!"  Gaston  tried  to  turn  his  gaze 
from  that  awful  baby-stare.  "Full  of  whim- 
whams  and  moonshine.  You  must  get  about  more. 
You  must  come  up  to  Drew's  house  to-morrow. 
It's  a  palace  of  a  place  —  and  Filmer  had  a  letter 
from  Drew  to-day.  He's  coming  before  the  autumn 
cold  sets  in  —  he's  going  to  bring  an  aunt  and  a 
sister  —  just  get  your  idle  fancy  on  the  doings, 
and  let  Master  Malcolm  jog  along  at  his  own  pace. 
If  he  doesn't  like  you  for  a  mother,  he  isn't  worth 


152        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

considering.  Look  at  him  now  —  he  sees  the  joke, 
the  brazen  little  cuss,  he's  actually  laughing  in  our 
faces." 

"Oh!"  Joyce  sat  rigidly  up,  and  her  own  face 
became  transformed.  The  moment  she  had  lived 
and  waited  for  had  come!  The  blank  stare  gave 
place  to  a  broken,  crinkling  expression;  the  thin 
shapeless  lips  trembled  over  the  toothless  gums, 
and  into  the  big  eyes  a  wonder  broke.  A  light 
seemed  to  shine  forth  —  and  the  baby  smiled  into 
the  adoring  face  looking  down  I 

To  Gaston,  the  sight  was,  in  a  sense,  awful.  The 
maiesty  of  Joyce's  attitude  toward  the  change  in 
the  child,  was  the  only  thing  that  saved  the  occa- 
sion. 

"Is  —  it  hungry  ?"  he  asked  with  the  same  dense 
stupidity  he  had  displayed  before. 

"Oh,  no!"   Joyce  laughed  gleefully.     "Don't  you 
see,  he  —  he   knows  me.     He  —  he  —  does   like  - 
me  —  he's  going  to  stay,  and  he  takes  this  heavenly 
way  to  show  it." 

"The  deuce  he  does!"  and  now  Gaston  laughed. 
"  He's  going  to  be  a  comical  imp,  if  I  don't  miss  my 
guess.  See,  he's  calming  down  now,  and  regulating 
his  features." 

"  But  —  he  —  smiled ! "  And  just  then  Jude  came 
around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Gaston  saw  the  expression  of  his  face,  and  some- 
thing stifled  him  for  a  moment.  He  wondered  if 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   153 

money  was  always  going  to  be  a  check  to  Jude, 
after  all. 

And  if  it  should  cease  to  hold  him  in  leash  —  then 
what  would  happen  ? 

He  went  away  soon  after,  but  he  sat  up  until 
toward  daylight,  just  outside  his  shack.  He  feared 
something  was  going  to  occur.  But  nothing  did; 
and  the  next  thing  in  Joyce's  life  story  that  tugged 
at  his  heart-strings,  was  the  sickness  and  sudden 
death  of  little  Malcolm. 


CHAPTER  IX 

IT  WAS  the  evening  of  the  day  that  the  baby 
had  been  laid  under  a  slim,  tall  young  pine 
tree  back  of  the  little  house. 

Jude  felt  that  he  had  borne  himself  heroically 
throughout  the  trying  episode. 

Never  having  cared  for  the  child  in  life,  he 
considered  himself  a  pretty  good  father  to  hide  his 
relief  at  its  early  taking  off. 

As  a  man  of  means  —  what  mattered  if  they  were 
Gaston's  means  ?  —  he  had  had  a  really  impressive 
funeral  for  his  son. 

The  Methodist  minister  from  Hillcrest  had 
preached  for  full  an  hour  over  the  tiny  casket.  Not 
often  did  the  clergyman  have  so  good  an  opportunity 
to  tell  the  St.  Angeans  what  he  thought  of  them. 

He  dealt  with  them  along  old  and  approved  lines. 
He  had  heard  of  Drew's  religious  views  and  he  took 
this  occasion  to  include  a  warning  of  the  damning 
influence  that  was  about  to  enter  the  vicinity  with 
the  young  minister's  return. 

"I  warn  you  now,"  he  thundered  over  the  dead 
baby,  "to  make  the  life  of  this  infidel,  this  God- 
hater,  a  burden  to  him." 

Filmer  from  his  rear  corner,  winked  at  Gaston 
154 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   155 

at  this.  Gaston  could  see  nothing  amusing  in  the 
service  —  it  was  all  in  the  passing  show  —  a  pitiful 
and  added  agony. 

In  that  the  show  was  a  little  grimmer  than  usual 
he  found  his  resentment  rising.  So  Gaston  did 
not  return  the  pleasantry  of  Jock's  wink. 

After  the  service,  Jude  had  insisted  that  there 
should  be  no  unseemly  haste,  and  had  instructed 
his  chosen  representatives  to  form  a  line  and  walk 
from  the  house  to  the  tavern  and  back  twice  with 
the  tiny  remains,  before  they  were  finally  laid  to 
rest.  This  show  of  respect  was  talked  of  in  St. 
Ange  for  days. 

Through  all  the  bitter  day  Joyce  had  followed 
dumbly  whatever  others  did.  It  was  like  walking 
in  her  sleep,  and  she  was  grateful  that  she  felt  no 
sorrow. 

She  had  feared  if  the  baby  died  it  might  kill  her, 
and  now  that  it  was  dead  she  did  not  mind  at  all. 

Her  arms  ached  a  little  at  times.  She  thought 
that  was  queer;  they  had  never  ached  when  they 
bore  the  baby. 

At  last  she  and  Jude  were  back  in  the  awful, 
quiet  house.  It  was  more  awful  now  that  Jude 
was  there.  For  after  the  burial,  and  before  the 
evening  meal,  he  had  been  lessening  his  tension 
with  some  boon  companions,  down  at  the  Black 
Cat,  and  Joyce  had  had  the  place  to  herself. 

Jude,  having  relaxed  to  the  state  of  geniality, 


156        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

was  willing  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  in  the  broadest 
sense  of  the  word.  He  had  big  plans  afoot  —  he  had 
had  them  the  night  he  came  home  and  found  Gaston 
and  Joyce  hanging  over  the  baby.  These  plans 
had  been  set  aside  while  the  baby  was  taking  his 
pitiful  leave  of  life  after  his  one  smile,  but  Jude 
must  hurry  his  case  now.  Nothing  stood  in  the 
way  —  and,  although  many  a  woman  might  get 
what  she  deserved,  Jude  was  going  to  forgive  Joyce 
again  and  take  her  to  his  bosom  in  a  new  life,  and 
they'd  both  forget  what  was  past. 

The  hold  of  youth  and  beauty  clutched  the  man's 
inflamed  senses.  The  evening  meal,  which  Joyce 
had  mechanically  prepared,  had  been  partaken  of  — 
by  Jude  —  until  little  but  fragments  was  left. 

A  black  shower,  which  had  passed  over  St  Ange 
in  the  late  afternoon,  had  changed  the  sultry  heat 
to  ominous  chill.  The  wind  among  the  pines 
sobbed  dismally  as  if  it  were  a  human  thing  and 
could  understand. 

Jude  got  up  and  shut  the  door.  It  was  quite 
dark  outside,  and  the  lamp  flickered  in  the  breeze. 

At  his  action  Joyce  sprang  from  the  chair,  and 
the  dull  calm  that  had  possessed  her  for  the  past 
day  or  so  was  shattered.  Her  eyes  blazed,  and  the 
colour  came  and  went  in  the  stern,  white  face. 

"Don't — do — that!"  she  panted,  springing  to  the 
door  and  flinging  it  back. 

"What   in    thunder   is    the    matter   with   you?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   157 

Jude  stepped  aside.  Something  in  this  change 
and  fury  startled  him. 

"  Don't  shut  —  the  —  door,  Jude.  We  —  we  — 
can't  leave  him  out  there  alone  in  the  cold.  He's 
so  little  —  our  —  baby!" 

Jude  had  a  moment  of  doubt  as  to  how  he  should 
deal  with  this  foolery.  If  he  were  quite  sure  it 
was  just  Joyce's  nonsense  —  but  perhaps  she  had 
gone  crazy.  The  thought  stayed  him. 

Then  he  considered  that  in  either  case  he  must 
get  the  upper  hand,  and  at  once.  All  depended 
upon  that. 

"Go  and  set  down,"  he  commanded,  eyeing 
the  girl  as  she  stood  in  the  open  doorway.  "You 
don't  'spose  we're  going  to  live  with  open  doors, 
do  you  ?" 

There  was  mastery  in  the  tone,  and,  to  gain  her 
end,  the  woman  resorted  to  her  only  course. 

"  Just  —  for  to-night,  Jude  —  just  a  little  way 
open.  I'd  choke  if  I  —  shut  him  away  so  soon  — 
and  he  so  little  and  —  and  —  all." 

Fear  of  what  he  did  not  understand  roused  in 
Jude  a  brutish  desire  to  overcome  this  something 
that  threatened.  For  a  moment  he  decided  to 
rush  from  the  house  and  leave  the  thing  to  work 
out  its  own  way;  but  second  thought  brought  with 
it  his  plans,  which  must  be  s*et  in  motion  at  once. 

This  attitude  of  Joyce's  was  a  new  obstacle,  but 
if  he  conquered  her,  he  might  overcome  it.  So  by 


158        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

sheer  force  of  weak  will  he  strode  over  to  the  woman 
who  defied  him,  even  while  she  pleaded,  and  grasped 
her  roughly  by  the  shoulder. 

In  that  touch  Joyce  recognized  what  all  suppressed 
and  deprived  womanhood  has  always  felt,  and  she 
recoiled  to  reconnoitre. 

"You  do  as  I  tell  you,  Joyce,  and  go  and  set  down. 
The  door  is  going  to  be  shut  and  you  take  that  in, 
plain  and  quick."  He  drew  her  away,  and  slammed 
the  door  with  a  crash. 

Joyce  went  quietly  to  her  chair,  but  a  new  and 
terrible  look  came  into  her  eyes. 

Jude  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  disregarding 
the  spotless  cover  and  soiled  dishes.  He  wanted 
to  be  near  Joyce  in  case  of  an  outbreak,  and  he  had 
much  to  say. 

"Are  you  listening  to  me?"  he  asked  slowly,  as 
if  he  were  speaking  to  a  child. 

"Oh!  yes,"  Joyce  replied,  and  her  tone  reas- 
sured him;  "I'm  listening." 

"Do  you  think  you've  ever  taken  me  in 
any?" 

[;  The  man's  sullen  black  eyes  held  the  clear,  bluish- 
gray  ones. 

"Oh,  never,  Jude!  You're  terribly  smart.  I've 
always  known  that  —  but  please  — "  the  strained 
eyes  turned  for  the  last  time  toward  the  door. 

"Cut  that  out!"  said  Jude.  "You're  just  acting. 
You  can't  pull  me  by  the  nose,  but  it  will  pay  you 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   159 

to  calm  down  and  listen  to  what  I've  got  to  say. 
I've  heard  from  your  father!" 

"Have  you?"  The  white  impassive  face  did  not 
change  expression. 

"Yes;  by  thunder!  I  have;  and  as  it  concerns 
you  as  much  as  it  does  me,  you  better  take  more 
interest.  I  heard  from  him  more  'n  two  weeks  ago. 
I  met  him,  too,  in  the  south  woods,  a  few  nights 
back." 

"What's  he  hiding  for?"  the  monotonous  tone 
jarred  Jude  more  than  any  outbreak  of  temper 
could  have  done.  His  recent  restraint,  and  his 
pent-up  plans  had  worn  his  nerves  to  the  raw  edge. 
He  was  in  the  slow,  consuming  stage  of  emotions 
that  was  likely  to  lead  him  to  a  desperate  move  if 
he  were  balked. 

"Now  look  here,"  he  blurted  out;  "you  and  me 
has  got  to  get  down  to  business,  and  that  to  once! 
I've  kept  mum  long  of  the  kid's  taking-off."  Joyce's 
eyes  widened  as  she  stared  through  the  open  window 
over  which  the  rose-vine  was  being  lashed  by  a 
new  storm. 

"I've  bided  my  time,  and  it  was  more  for  you 
than  for  me,  you  can  bet. 

"This  is  the  big  time  of  our  lives,  and  I  ain't 
going  to  hold  back  any  facts  what  can  make  things 
clear  and  reasonable.  Me  and  your  fatner  want 
you,  maybe  for  different  reasons,  maybe  not.  You 
ain't  the  common  sort,  and  we  know  you  can  help 


160        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

us.  If  you  was  like  most  women,  him  and  me 
wouldn't  have  no  compunctions  about  cutting,  and 
leaving  you  to  ways  what  you  seem  to  hanker  after. 
But  he's  actually  pining  for  a  sight  of  you,  and  even 
knowing  what  I  do  about  you,  I  can't  give  you  up ! 
That's  the  plain  situation  as  far  as  you're  concerned, 
and  you  can  take  it  for  what  it's  worth.  Are  you 
listening?" 

"Oh!  yes,  yes,  I'm  listening,  Jude."  And  so 
she  was.  She  was  listening  to  the  moan  in  the  tree- 
tops.  It  sounded  like  the  last  plaintive  cry  her 
child  had  made,  and  it  hurt  her  cruelly. 

"I've  got  more  money  in  hand,  Joyce,  than  what 
I  ever  had  —  I've  got  fifteen  hundred  dollars." 

Somehow  this  had  power  to  reach  the  listener  as 
nothing  before  had  done.  Her  aching  eyes  fell 
upon  Jude,  and  a  new  fear  contracted  them. 

"Where  did  you  get  it  —  the  money -- Jude  ?" 

"That's  my  business.  I'm  only  dealing  with 
facts." 

"Yes,  but  I  must  know.  It  —  it  isn't  yours, 
Jude." 

"Isn't  it?"  Jude  laughed.  "Well,  then,  we'll 
call  it  mine  for  argerment.  That  pa  of  yours  is  a 
slick  one !"  The  sudden  change  of  subject  relaxed 
the  brief  interest  Joyce  had  shown  in  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"Leaving  here  in  the  sulks  about  you,  what  does 
he  do  but  go  down  to  what  he  calls  civilization,  and 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        161 

strikes  a  rich  claim  first  thing.  All  that  was  lacking 
was  ready  money.  Back  he  comes,  and  finds  out 
the  lay  of  the  land  here,  without  so  much  as  showing 
his  nose.  He  says  he  had  several  plans  to  get  money 
-  but  this  plan  of  mine  is  the  easiest,  so  we're  going 
to  work  it.  All  my  life  I've  dreamed  by  day  and 
night  "  —  a  sudden  glow  illumined  Jude's  dark  face, 
"of  the  road  and  where  it  leads.  Always,  as 
true  as  God  hears  me,  Joyce,  always,  as  boy  and  man, 
when  I've  fancied  myself  on  the  road,  and  beyond 
the  forests,  I've  always  seen  you  beside  me.  I 
don't  care  what  you  are,  or  what  temptations  beset 
you  —  you've  always  been  the  one  girl  for  me. 
We're  going  to  begin  a  new  life  now  —  with  no  back 
flings  at  each  other.  Give  me  a  kiss  on  it,  girl." 

Jude  came  over  to  her,  and  she  felt  his  hot,  excited 
breath  on  her  cheek  and  throat. 

Dazed  as  she  was  by  what  he  had  said,  she  was 
frightened  at  his  manner,  and  drew  back,  warding 
him  ofFwith  rigid  hands. 

"Don't!"  she  cried,  hoarsely.  "Don't  touch  me. 
You're  all  wrong  —  I'm  not  going  anywhere  with 
you.  I'm  going  to  stay  right  here  —  I  swear  it!" 

"You  won't  go  ?"  Everything  swayed  and  trem- 
bled before  Jude.  "But  if  I  promise  to  —  to — • 
pay  it  back  ?  You  know  there  was  no  time  set." 
This  was  the  last  concesssion  Jude  was  to  make. 
His  horrible  suspicions  were  choking  him. 

"  I'm  not  going.     I  —  I  couldn't  —  I  —  couldn't 


162        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

leave  —  him."  The  white  face  quivered  and  the 
big  eyes  overflowed  with  tears. 

Jude  had  only  one  thought  —  a  thought  lashed 
to  the  fore  by  his  jealous  rage,  and  defeated  hopes. 
And  poor  Joyce,  distraught  and  grief-crazed,  realized 
not  the  terrible  blunder  he  was  making. 

"You're  —  staying  —  just  —  for  him?"  Jude 
was  close  to  her  now,  and  his  breath  came  short 
and  hard. 

"Yes;  I  know  you  won't  ever  understand.  If 
I  was  away,  I  couldn't  bear  my  life  —  this  —  this 
longing  would  be  always  tugging  at  me  —  and  I 
could  never-help  it.  If  we  stay  here,  Jude,  I'll  go 
on  just  the  —  same;  it's  being  —  near  —  that 
counts!" 

"You — tell   me   this   to   my   face — you   fool!" 

For  an  instant  Joyce's  dull  agony  wavered,  and 
an  inkling  of  what  Jude  meant  rushed  upon 
her. 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  and  put  her  hands  out  to 
him.  But  it  was  too  late.  The  hot  blood  was  surg- 
ing in  the  weak  brain.  With  a  violence  he  had 
never  shown  before,  the  man  flung  the  outstretched 
hands  from  him,  then  he  struck  viciously  the  white 
terrified  face  twice,  leaving  dull,  red  marks  to  bear 
witness. 

His  rage  fed  upon  the  brutality.  Now  that  he 
had  let  himself  loose,  he  gave  full  rein  to  his  hate 
and  revenge. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       163 

He  gripped  the  slim,  childish  arm,  and  pushed 
the  shrinking  form  before  him. 

"Go — you!"  With  one  hand  he  drew  the 
door  back,  and  hurled  the  girl  out  into  the  black 
storm.  "Go  to  him  !" 

Joyce  kept  her  feet,  but  she  staggered  on  until 
a  tree  stopped  her  course.  The  contact  was  another 
hurt,  but  she  gave  small  heed  to  it. 

Like  a  burning  flash  she  seemed  to  see  two  things: 
Jude's  true  understanding  of  her  blundering 
words;  and  her  possible  future,  after  she  had  made 
him  understand.  For,  of  course,  she  must  go  back 
and  make  him  understand,  and  then  —  well,  after 
such  a  scene,  a  woman's  life  was  never  safe  in  St. 
Ange.  It  was  like  a  taste  of  blood  to  a  wild  animal. 
Still  she  must  go  back.  In  all  the  world  there  was 
nothing  else  for  her  to  do. 

Her  face  stung  and  throbbed,  her  arm  ached 
where  Jude  had  crushed  the  tender  flesh.  She 
leaned  against  the  tree  that  had  added  to  her  pain, 
and  wept  miserably  for  very  self-pity.  She  was 
downed  and  beaten.  After  all  she  was  to  be  like 
the  rest  of  St.  Ange  women. 

Sounds    roused    her.     Strange,    terrific    sounds. 

What  was  Jude  doing  ? 

Trembling  in  every  limb,  she  went  forward  and 
peered  through  the  rose-vine  into  the  room. 

The  rain  was  cooling  her  face  and  the  wind  was 
clearing  the  agonized  brain. 


i64        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Inside,  the  scene  struck  terror  to  the  watcher's 
heart. 

Jude  was  crashing  the  furniture  to  pieces  in  a 
frenzy  of  revenge. 

The  chairs  were  dashed  against  the  chimney; 
the  books  hurled  near  and  far.  One  almost  hit  the 
white  face  among  the  vines,  as  it  went  crashing 
outward. 

Then  Jude  attacked  the  pictures  —  her  beautiful 
pictures ! 

The  mountain  peak  was  shattered  by  a  blow  from 
the  remnant  of  the  little  rocker,  then  the  ocean 
picture  fell  with  the  sound  of  splintered  glass.  Last 
the  Madonna!  Joyce  clutched  her  heart  as  the 
heavenly  face  was  obliterated  by  the  savage  blow. 
Then,  maddened  still  further  by  his  own  excesses, 
Jude  laughed  and  struck  with  mighty  force,  the 
lamp  from  the  table  —  and  the  world  was  in  black- 
ness! 

How  long  Joyce  stood  clinging  to  the  vine  in 
abject  terror,  she  was  never  to  know. 

Consciousness  of  the  live,  vivid  sort,  was  merci- 
fully spared  her  for  a  space.  She  knew,  but  did 
not  comprehend,  the  true  horror  of  her  situation. 

No  thought  of  explaining  now  to  Jude  occurred 
to  her  as  she  stood  cringing  and  trembling  against 
the  house  in  the  darkness.  Only  one  thought 
possessed  her  vitally -- Jude  must  never  see  her 
again.  If  he  did,  he  would  kill  her.  Kill  her  as 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   165 

Pierre  was  said  to  have  killed  poor  little  Lola, 
long,  long  ago. 

Joyce's  teeth  chattered  and  she  gripped  her  shak- 
ing hands  over  them.  When  her  heart  did  beat  — 
and  minutes  seemed  to  pass  when  it  made  no  motion 
-  it  hurt  her  cruelly. 

What  was  he  doing  in  there  ?  The  storm  was 
gaining  power,  and  no  other  sound  rose  in  the  black- 
ness. Then  suddenly  Jude  rushed  from  the  house. 
He  passed  so  close  to  Joyce  that  his  coat  touched 
her.  By  some  power  entirely  outside  of  ordinary 
hearing  or  seeing,  Joyce  knew  that  he  was  making 
for  the  Black  Cat  with  the  tale  of  his  wrongs.  They 
all  did  that.  It  was  the  finishing  stroke  for  the 
woman. 

Alone,  in  the  blackness  and  storm,  reason  reas- 
serted itself  in  Joyce's  mind.  It  brought  no  comfort 
with  its  restored  poise;  rather,  it  brought  a  realiza- 
tion of  her  true  position.  Her  life  was  as  utterly 
shattered  and  devastated  as  was  the  little  home. 
Everything  was  gone.  The  future,  with  pitiful 
choice,  was  as  densely  black  as  the  night  that  shut 
her  in  with  her  dull  misery.  With  Jude,  there 
could  be  no  possible  understanding.  To  con- 
front him,  even  with  the  powers  of  the  Black  Cat  at 
call,  would  be  the  wildest  folly.  There  was  nothing 
to  say  —  nothing. 

Still,  Jude  had  money.  It  was  quite  plain  to  the 
keen  mind  now  —  it  was  Gaston's  money !  Ralph 


i66        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Drew  had  probably  sent  the  money  in  payment  and 
instead  of  passing  the  amount  on  to  Gaston,  who  had 
advanced  the  different  sums,  Jude  was  making  off 
with  it.  She  must  stop  that.  For  herself,  what  did 
it  matter  ?  But  still,  if  Gaston,  who  had  such  power, 
could  hold  Jude  and  claim  the  money,  he  might 
find  a  way  out  of  this  awful  trouble.  She  must  go 
to  Gaston,  and  at  once. 

Aching  in  every  limb,  and  soaked  to  the  skin, 
Joyce  turned  toward  the  North  Woods.  The  howling 
wind  was  with  her,  and  it  was  the  only  help  she  had. 
So  she  came  at  last  to  the  lonely  little  shack  among 
the  pines. 

Gaston  had  built  a  roaring  piney  fire  upon  the 
hearth  of  his  outer  room.  He  was  luxuriating 
before  this  with  a  long-stemmed  pipe  between  his 
lips. 

The  day  had  perplexed  and  touched  him  deeply. 
Never  before  in  all  his  St.  Ange  life  had  he  seemed 
to  get  so  close  to  the  heart,  the  human  heart,  of 
things.  Joyce's  white,  still  anguish  over  the  death 
of  her  baby  had  tugged  at  his  feelings. 

So  that  was  what  mother-love  meant  the  world 
over  ? 

A  sharp,  quick  knock  startled  him.  Gaston  rose 
at  once.  He  knew  upon  the  instant  who  it  was. 
He  knew  that  from  some  dire  necessity  Joyce  was 
calling  for  his  aid. 

There  was  no  time  nor  inclination  for  him  to  fall 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   167 

back  upon  that  inner  sense  of  his  and  seek  to  peer 
beyond  the  present  and  its  need.  He  strode  to  the 
door,  flung  it  open,  and  Joyce  and  the  terrific  storm 
burst  into  the  room  together ! 

"  He  —  he's  driven  me  from  the  house."  The 
girl's  wild  face  made  unnecessary  the  idle  question 
that  Gaston  spoke. 

"Who?" 

"Jude."  Then  Gaston  shut  and  barred  the 
heavy  door.  He  could  at  least  exclude  the  rain 
and  wind. 

"Look  here!  and  here!"  the  girl  pointed  to  her 
bruised  face  upon  which  the  storm's  moisture 
rested,  and  the  slender  arm  with  its  brutal  mark. 

"Good  God!"  ejaculated  Gaston,  as  he  gazed 
in  horror,  "and  on  this  day!" 

Rage  against  Jude,  tenderness  for  Jude's  victim, 
struggled  hotly  in  Gaston's  mind;  but  presently 
a  divine  pity  for  the  girl  alone  consumed  him. 

Her  misery  was  appalling.  Now  that  she  was 
comparatively  safe,  bodily  weakness  overpowered 
her.  She  swayed,  and  put  her  hands  out  childishly 
for  support  —  any  support  that  might  steady  her 
as  her  world  went  black. 

Gaston  caught  her  and  placed  her  gently  in  his 
deep,  low  chair. 

"Poor  girl!"  he  murmured,  "Poor  Joyce! 
You're  as  wet  as  a  leaf.  Here !"  He  quickly  brought 
one  of  the  red  blankets  from  the  inner  room.  "  Here, 


i68       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

let  me  at  least  wrap  you  in  something  dry.  And 
now  drink  this,  it  will  do  you  good." 

He  poured  some  wine  into  a  glass  and  held  it  to 
her  blue,  cold  lips. 

"Come,  Joyce!  We'll  straighten  things  out. 
Trust  me." 

She  gulped  the  warming  wine,  and  shivered  in 
the  blanket's  muffling  comfort. 

"And  now,"  Gaston  was  flinging  logs  on  the 
blazing  embers,  "you're  coming  around.  What- 
ever it  is,  Joyce,  it  isn't  worth  all  this  agony  of 
yours." 

"I'm  —  I'm  afraid  they'll  come  and  kill  us." 
Joyce's  eyes  widened  and  the  old  fear  seized  her 
again.  The  momentary  comfort  and  thought  of 
safety  lost  their  hold. 

"In  God's  name,  Joyce,  hush!  You're  safe 
and  I'm  not  afraid.  Come,  don't  you  see  if  you 
want  me  to  help  you,  you  must  pull  yourself 
together?" 

"  Yes;  yes;  and  we  —  I  must  hurry." 

Now  that  he  had  time  to  think,  Gaston  knew  pretty 
rtrell  what  had  occurred.  The  vulgar  details  did 
not  matter.  The  one  important  and  hideous  fact 
was,  that  for  some  reason,  Jude,  with  the  crazy 
brutality  that  had  long  been  gathering,  had  flung 
his  young  wife  from  his  protection  on  to  Gaston's. 

Well,  he  would  accept  the  responsibility.  He 
was  quite  calm,  and  his  blood  was  up.  A  pleasur- 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   169 

able  excitement  possessed  him,  and  he  laughed  to 
calm  the  fear  he  saw  in  Joyce's  eyes. 

The  clock  struck  nine.  All  that  was  respectable 
and  innocent  in  St.  Ange  was  in  bed  at  that  hour. 

Gaston  wondered  what  he  was  going  to  do  with 
the  girl.  The  thought  did  not  disturb  him;  but, 
of  course,  he  must  make  arrangements. 

Long  ago  he  had  so  shut  out  his  own  world  that 
he  could  not,  now,  call  upon  it  for  Joyce's  protection. 
St.  Ange  was  impossible  as  a  working  basis  —  his 
thoughts  flevr  to  Filmer.  Yes;  as  soon  as  Joyce 
could  explain,  he  would  go  for  Filmer  and  together 
they  would  solve  this  riddle  for  the  poor,  battered 
soul,  shrinking  before  him. 

He  must  hurry  her  a  little.  St.  Ange  and  nine 
o'clock  must  be  considered. 

The  wine  had  brought  life  and  colour  into  the 
white  face.  The  glorious  hair,  now  rapidly  drying 
in  the  warm  room,  was  curling  in  childish  fashion 
above  the  wide  eyes. 

She  was  certainly  too  young  and  pretty  to  run 
the  risk  that  the  night  might  bring. 

A  complication  arose.  Divine  pity  made  way 
for  a  sense  of  the  girl's  beauty  and  helplessness. 
The  bruise  upon  the  soft  cheek  cried  out  for  tender- 
ness and  protection.  Gaston  strove  to  detach 
himself  from  the  personal  element.  He  strove  to 
feel  old  and  fatherly  but  he  was  still  young; 
Fate  was  tempting  him  in  the  subtlest  manner. 


iyo        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

The  best  and  the  worst  of  the  man  came  to  the 
fore. 

The  wind  howled  outside;  the  warmth  and  com- 
fort held  them  close  —  together,  and  alone. 

What  did  anything  matter?  They  had  both 
done  their  parts.  They  had  tried  to  be  what  the 
world  called  good  —  and  here  they  were  tossed  back 
upon  each  other,  and  not  a  hope  beyond. 

Then  Gaston  found  himself  speaking  quite  out- 
side of  the  consciousness  that  was  almost  stifling 
him  with  its  allurement. 

"Joyce,  I  must  take  you  home  as  soon  as  you 
can  walk.  I  can  straighten  this  out.  It  shall  not 
happen  again.  You  forget  I  have  a  certain  hold 
over  Jude." 

"There  is  no  home."  The  words  fell  dully  from 
the  girl.  "  He  —  he  broke  and  destroyed  every- 
thing before  —  he  went  to  the  Black  Cat." 

Gaston  started. 

"But  he  —  did  not  know  you  came  here?  You 
see  it  will  be  in  your  favour,  if  they  find  you  there 
among  the  ruins.  I'll  see  to  it  —  that  they  go  and 
find  you  there.  Can  you  walk  now  ?" 

"Yes,  but  —  but  you  do  not  understand.  The 
money  —  it  was  that  I  came  to  tell  you  about  — 
Jude  has  a  great  deal  of  money  —  I  think  Mr.  Drew 
has  just  sent  it.  He's  going  to  —  get  away  —  with 
my  —  father." 

Gaston  now  saw  that  no  time  must  be  wasted. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   171 

If  necessary  he  must  carry  Joyce,  and  set  her  down 
near  her  fallen  shrine — then  he  must  stop  Jude. 
The  money  did  not  matter;  but  a  frenzy  of  self- 
preservation,  mingled  with  his  desire  to  save  Joyce, 
rose  within  him.  The  money  was  his  hold  on  Jude; 
it  was  the  only  salvation  for  this  critical  moment. 

Now  that  he  faced  the  grim  possibility,  he  found 
that  he  was  as  eager  to  preserve  a  clean  future  for 
himself  as  for  her. 

He  must  get  her  back.  He  must  find  Filmer, 
and  he  must  lay  hold  of  Jude. 

"Come,  Joyce,  trust  me,  I  swear  to  you  that  it 
will  be  all  right." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  toward  the  door. 
Then  a  confused  noise  outside  stayed  them. 

There  was  a  crushing  of  underbrush  as  if  a  light 
wagon  was  being  driven  over  the  narrow  path;  a 
mingling  of  voices  rose  excitedly. 

"You  damned  scoundrel!"  It  was  Filmer's 
voice.  "Don't  you  utter  that  lie  again  until  he's 
had  a  chance  to  fling  it  back  in  your  teeth.  What- 
ever your  cursed  row  has  been,  he's  got  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  Shut  up!" 

"Hold  on  there,  Filmer."  It  was  Tate  speaking. 
"This  here  wagon's  got  wedged  in  the  trees.  I 
want  to  see  this  thing  settled  square.  If  she's  - 
a  bristling  string  of  epithets  followed,  then  Tate 
apparently  freed  the  vehicle  he  was  in,  for  he  jumped 
to  the  ground  and  joined  the  knockers  at  the  door. 


172        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

So  the  morality  of  St.  Ange  was  at  stake!  Gaston 
showed  his  teeth  in  a  hard  smile.  There  was 
but  one  conclusion  for  them  all  to  come  to,  of 
course. 

"Say,  Gaston,  old  man!"  Filmer  shouted;  "open 
up.  I  thought  maybe  you'd  like  to  bid  Jude  an 
affectionate  farewell  before  he  skipped.  If  he  owes 
you  —  anything,  here's  your  chance!"  Another 
knock  shook  the  door. 

The  two  inside  looked  at  each  other  —  man  and 
woman!  They  both  knew  with  what  they  had  to 
deal.  A  dare-devil  expression  rose  to  Gaston's 
face.  He  tossed  precaution  to  the  winds. 

Abject  terror  possessed  Joyce  and  she  reeled  as 
she  stood,  clutching  the  blanket  closer.  Gaston 
put  an  arm  about  her,  strode  to  the  door,  unbarred 
it,  and  flung  it  back. 

"Well,'*  he  said  to  the  men  on  the  threshold, 
"what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

Filmer  staggered  as  if  Gaston  had  struck  him, 
and  the  look  in  his  eyes  went  scathingly  to  Gaston's 
heart.  But  while  it  hurt,  it  aroused  resentment. 
What  right  had  Filmer  to  judge  —  Who  knew  his 
past  ?  But  Gaston  knew  Filmer  was  not  judging. 
He  knew  he  was  only  bidding  farewell  to  his  one 
friend  of  the  Solitudes.  The  friend  he  had  trusted 
and  revered. 

The  effect  upon  Jude  was  quite  different.  No 
doubt  swayed  him  —  he  was  merely  debating  in 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   173 

his  mind  whether  he  could  now  get  away  with 
the  money  and  the  wagon  he  had  hired. 

"Since  you've  got  her-  '  he  stammered,  "how 
about  —  the  —  the  money  ?" 

The  question  nerved  Gaston. 

"Money?"  he  cried;  "get  out  with  it,  you  thief 
and  would-be  murderer.  Use  it  to  get  as  far  from 
here  as  you  can,  for  as  true  as  there  is  a  heaven 
above  us,  if  you  ever  interfere  with  me  or  —  mine  — 
again,  I'll  shoot  you  at  sight.  Get  out  —  all  of 
you!" 

He  slammed  the  door  violently  shut,  and  with 
clenched  hands  and  blazing  eyes,  he  faced  his  com- 
panion. 

He  and  she  were  the  only  ones  in  the  new  world. 
Stung  by  the  memory  of  the  look  of  lost  faith  in  the 
eyes  of  the  one  friend  to  whom  he  had  planned  to 
turn  in  this  emergency;  recalling  Jude's  glance  of 
triumph  as  he  turned  away,  Gaston's  moral  sense 
reeled,  and  the  elemental  passions  rose. 

Joyce  stood  shrinking  before  him.  Beaten, 
bruised  and  trapped,  she  awaited  her  doom. 

Her  primitive  love  for  this  man  held  no  part  in 
her  present  condition.  Whatever  he  consigned  her 
to,  that  must  she  accept.  St.  Ange  standards  were 
well  known  to  her.  The  people  would  be  quick 
enough  to  spurn  personal  responsibility  for  her, 
but  if  she  were  independent  of  them  —  well,  they 
were  not  the  ones  to  hold  resentment !  r 


174        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

No  moral  training  had  ever  had  part  in  this  girl's 
life;  nothing  held  her  now  but  a  fear,  born  of  her  past 
experience  with  man's  authority,  as  to  her  future  fate. 

She  was  abandoned  and  disowned.  Her  recent 
loss  and  grief  had  bereft  her  of  any  personal  pride 
and  hope  —  like  a  slave  before  its  master,  she  faced 
Gaston  —  and  mutely  waited. 

The  unexpected  happened.  Gaston  laughed. 
Laughed  in  the  old,  unconcerned  way;  but  presently 
the  rising  awe  and  question  in  the  lovely  eyes  looking 
into  his  own,  sobered  him.  He  began  to  under- 
stand and  to  get  her  point  of  view.  He  stood 
straighter,  and  a  new  expression  passed  over  his  face. 

"Sit  down,  Joyce,"  he  said,  urging  her  gently 
toward  the  chair,  "I  must  mend  the  fire.  Things 
look  as  if  they  had  fallen  to  pieces,  but  they  have 
not.  Believe  me  —  they  have  not.  For  heaven's 
sake  stop  trembling;  every  shudder  you  give  is  an 
insult  to  me.  There,  there,  you  don't  understand, 
but,  it's  coming  out  all  right.  It  was  only  when 
others  were  meddling  that  we  got  on  the  rocks. 
I've  got  the  rudder  in  my  hand  now,  and  by  God's 
help,"  he  was  fiercely  flinging  on  the  logs,  "we'll 
sail  out  into  the  open  with  colours  flying.  When 
did  you  eat  last?" 

She  was  watching  him  with  alert,  feverish  eyes. 
Like  an  ensnared  animal  she  felt  a  frenzied  eager- 
ness to  be  ready  for  the  snarer's  next  move. 

"Eat  ?"  she  faltered,  "why,  why,  I  have  forgotten. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        175 

Yesterday  —  to-day  —  oh !  does  it  matter  ?  I'm 
not  hungry." 

"Well,  I  am.  I  always  wanted  a  snatch  after 
the  play." 

"The  —  the  play  ?"   Joyce  leaned  forward. 

"After  an  infernal  row,  if  you  like  that  better. 
They  both  play  the  dickens  with  your  digestion." 

Bringing  out  the  food,  and  making  coffee  eased 
jhe  tension  of  the  situation  and  after  they  had  eaten, 
for  Joyce  struggled  to  follow  his  example,  the 
atmosphere  was  less  electrical. 

The  hands  of  the  clock  got  around  to  ten-thirty; 
it  was  of  no  consequence,  however,  and  then  Gaston 
cleared  the  table,  kicked  a  rebellious  log  back  to 
its  duty,  and  drew  a  chair  beside  Joyce. 

The  little  bruised  arm  lay  stretched  pitifully 
along  the  arm  of  the  chair.  Gaston  winced  as  he 
saw  it,  and  he  laid  his  strong,  warm  hand  over  the 
cold  fingers  that  did  not  draw  away. 

"Joyce."  His  voice  was  almost  solemn  in  its 
intensity.  "I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  I  can 
say  that  you  would  understand  now.  God  knows, 
I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul  and,  God 
helping  me,  I'*n  going  to  help  you  in  the  best  way 
I  can.  You  need  rest  more  than  any  other  little 
woman  in  the  world  to-night,  I  reckon,  go  in  there," 
he  nodded  toward  his  own  chamber,  "and  try  your 
best  to  sleep.  I  want  to  smoke  and  think  it  all  out 
here  by  the  fire.  Remember,  you  are  safe." 


*7<5       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

She  rose  stiffly  and  stood  before  him.  Fear  was 
gone  from  her;  weakness  remained;  a  horrible, 
sickening  weakness,  but  no  fear.  Vaguely,  grop- 
ingly, she  tried  to  understand  what  lay  behind  his 
slow,  solemn  words,  but  the  effort  was  too  great. 
She  sighed  and  looked  down  upon  him  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  become  a  stranger  to  her,  then,  stepping 
backward,  with  uncertain  faltering  movement,  she 
gained  the  door  of  that  room  where  no  foot  but 
Gaston's  had  ever  before  stepped. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  WAS  mid-October    when   Ralph    Drew,  his 
pretty     sister    Constance     and     his     devoted 
maiden    aunt  —  Miss    Sally    Drew  —  arrived 
in  St.  Ange  and  took  up  their  new  life  in  the  bunga- 
low which,  under  Jude  Lauzoon's  contractorship, 
had  been  made  ready. 

During  his  first  short  stay  in  St.  Ange  young 
Drew  had  regained  not  only  his  lost  strength*  but 
he  had  gained  an  insight  into  the  needs  of  the  men 
and  women  of  the  small  place.  He  had  always 
intended  doing  something  for  the  village  and  its 
inhabitants  after  his  return  to  town  for  they  had 
appealed  strongly  to  his  emotional  and  sympathetic 
nature.  But  what  St.  Ange  had  vouchsafed  in  the 
way  of  restored  health,  she  had  begrudgingly 
bestowed.  To  have  and  to  hold  what  she  had 
given,  the  recipient  must,  in  return,  vow  allegiance 
to  her,  and,  forsaking  all  others,  cling  to  her  pines 
and  silent  places.  He  must  forswear  old  habits 
and  environment  —  he  must  give  up  all  else  and  fling 
himself  upon  her  mercy. 

It  had  been  hard.  Back  there  in  the  town,  where 
the  pulse  of  things  beat  high,  he  had  fought  the 
knowledge  inch  by  inch. 

177 


1 78        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Would  a  year  be  enough  ?"  It  would  be  use* 
less.  "If  winters  were  spent  there  —  several  win- 
ters ?"  The  big  specialist  shook  his  head. 

High,  dry  mountains,  somewhere,  were  the  only 
hope.  St.  Ange  was  comparatively  near,  she  had 
given  a  hint  as  to  what  she  could  do  —  better  trust 
her. 

One  after  another  the  outposts  of  lingering  hope 
were  taken  by  the  grim,  white  Spectre.  He  must 
abdicate,  and  accept  wnat  terms  the  enemy  offered. 

Wan,  and  defeated,  but  still  with  the  high  courage 
that  was  his  only  possession,  Drew  tried  to  get  the 
new  outlook. 

If  there  were  to  be  —  life,  then  there  must  be 
work,  God's  work;  he  was  no  coward,  he  would  do 
his  part. 

Mingled  with  the  many,  dear,  familiar  things  of  the 
life  that  no  longer  was  to  be  his,  was  a  slim,  pretty, 
little  girl  whom  he  had  enshrined  in  his  college 
days,  and  before  whom  he  had  laid  his  heart's 
sacredest  offerings  since.  She,  and  his  splendid 
courage  would  make  even  St.  Ange  a  Paradise. 

Raising  his  eyes  to  her  face,  as  she  sat  beside  his 
bed  the  day  the  specialist  had  given  his  final  com- 
mand, Drew  whispered  his  hope  to  her. 

The  soft,  saintly  eyes  fell  before  the  trusting, 
pitiful  ones. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  a  new  doubt  faced  him — one 
he  had  never  believed  possible;  "they  say  I  will 


JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS        179 

be  well  —  quite  well,  there  if  I  stay.  And  you 
and  I  — "  but  that  drooping  face  drove  him  back 
among  the  shadows. 

"We — must — think  of  others."  It  was  the 
voice  of  a  self-sacrificing  saint,  but  the  heart-touch 
was  lacking,  and  Drew  received  his  sentence  then 
and  there. 

For  a  few,  weak  days  he  decided  to  remain  and 
finish  it  all  and  forever. 

Then  his  manly  faith  bade  him  sternly  to  gather 
the  poor  remnant  of  his  strength  together;  grasp 
the  broken  blade  that  was  his  only  weapon,  and 
finish  the  fight  how  and  where  he  could. 

"We'll  go  with  you,  laddie,"  Aunt  Sally  whis- 
pered, hanging  over  this  boy  whom  she  loved  as 
her  own. 

"And,  dear,"  Constance  sobbed  on  his  pillow, 
"she  wasn't  worth  your  love.  I  just  knew  it  from 
the  start.  She's  a  selfish — egotistical — "  a  thin, 
feverish  hand  stayed  the  girlish  outburst. 

"Never  mind,  Connie,  we'll  fly  to  the  woods, 
and  try  to  forget  all  about  it."  And  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  golden  October  calm,  they  came  to  St. 
Ange. 

Lying  upon  his  bed  in  the  bungalow  chamber, 
looking  out  over  the  hills  and  meadows,  gorgeous 
in  autumn  tints,  Drew  began  slowly,  interruptedly 
to  be  sure,  but  perceptibly,  to  gain  strength. 

Having  relinquished  finally  the  old  ideal  of  life, 


160       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

it  was  wonderful,  even  to  Drew  himself,  to  find  how 
much  seemed  unimportant  and  trivial.  It  was 
rather  shocking,  in  a  mild  way,  for  him  to  realize 
that  a  certain  girl's  face  was  growing  less  and  less 
vivid.  At  first  he  attributed  this  to  bodily  weakness; 
then  to  weakness  of  character;  finally,  thank  God! 
to  common  sense.  With  that  conclusion  reached, 
the  present  began  feebly  to  be  vital  and  full  of  mean- 
ing. 

Had  perfect  health  been  his,  a  call  to  serve  the 
cause  to  which  he  had  dedicated  himself  might  have 
taken  him  farther  than  St.  Ange  from  his  old  life. 
It  was  the  finality  of  the  decree  that  had  put  him 
in  that  panic.  Well,  he  would  not  permit  finality 
to  hold  part  in  his  plans.  He  would  live  as  if  all 
things  might  come  to  him,  as  to  other  men.  It 
should  be,  day  by  day,  and  he  would  accept  these 
people  —  if  they  would  accept  him  —  not  as  minis- 
ter and  parishioners,  but  in  the  larger,  deeper  sense 
-  as  brothers.  With  this  outlook  determined  upon, 
a  change  for  the  better  began.  Before  it,  while 
the  old  weakness  possessed  him,  Jock  Kilmer,  sitting 
daily  by  his  bed,  was  merely  some  one  who  was  help- 
ing nurse  the  fever-racked  body;  afterward,  Jock 
materialized  into  the  most  important  and  satisfying 
personality  to  be  imagined.  He  was  untiring  in 
his  devotion  and  gentleness.  Caught  on  the  rebound 
from  the  shock  Gaston  had  caused  him,  Filmer 
went  over  to  the  new  call  to  his  friendship  with  an 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   181 

abandon  that  proved  his  own  sore  need  of  sym- 
pathy. 

The  family,  grateful  for  the  signs  of  returning 
health  in  the  sick  man,  thankful  for  Jock's  assist- 
ance and  enlivening  humour,  disregarded  con- 
ventions, and  admitted  the  new  friend  to  the  holy 
of  holies  in  their  bungalow  life. 

Jock  had  not  been  so  supremely  happy  in  years. 
The  companionship  healed  the  wound  Gaston  had 
given  his  faith,  and  he  found  himself  shielding  and 
defending  both  Gaston  and  Joyce  against  his  own 
crude  judgments. 

Before  coming  to  St.  Ange,  Drew  had  been  kept 
in  touch  with  all  that  the  men  who  were  working 
for  him  considered  his  legitimate  business.  Any- 
thing pertaining  to  his  house  was  fully  explained; 
village  scandal,  however,  had  been  ignored,  and 
when  Drew  was  able  to  be  moved  in  a  steamer- 
chair  to  his  broad  porch  facing  the  west,  he  had 
many  astounding  things  to  learn. 

One  morning,  lying  luxuriously  back  among  his 
cushions  and  inhaling  the  pine-filled  air  with  relish, 
Drew  electrified  Filmer,  who  sat  near  him  on  the 
porch  railing,  by  observing  calmly: 

"Filmer,  I've  a  load  of  questions  I  want  to  ask." 

"Heave  'em  out."  Jock  sighed  resignedly.  Of 
course,  he  had  anticipated  this  hour,  and  he  knew 
that  he  must  be  the  high  priest.  "Heave  'em  out, 
and  then  settle  down  'mong  facts." 


182        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Where  is  Jude  Lauzoon?"  This  was  hitting 
the  bull's  eye  with  a  vengeance. 

"  Gone  off  for  change  of  air  and  scene  —  some- 
where." Jock  presented  a  stolid,  blank  face  to 
his  inquisitor. 

"Gone  where?" 

"  Now  how  in  —  how  do  you  expect  I  know  ? 
Just  gone." 

"Taken  that  pretty  little  wife  of  his  to  new  scenes, 
eh  ?  Well,  she  never  seemed  to  me  to  belong  here 
rightfully.  I  hope  they'll  do  well  ." 

Jock  hitched  uncomfortably. 

"Well,"  he  broke  in,  feeling  it  was  inevitable, 
"Joyce  didn't,  as  you  might  say,  go  with  Jude. 
She's  stopping  on  here." 

"With  the  baby?  There  was  a  baby,  I  recall. 
My  sister  talked  of  it  a  good  deal.  She  was  inter- 
ested in  Joyce  Lauzoon  from  what  I  told  her." 

"Well,"  Filmer  felt  his  way,  "there  was,  as  you 
say,  a  —  a  baby,  at  least  a  kind  of  —  a  —  baby. 
It  was  about  as  near  a  failure  as  /  ever  saw;  but 
Joyce  was  plain  crazy  about  it." 

"Was?  Is  —  the  child  dead?"  Drew's  big  eyes 
were  full  of  sympathy. 

"Well,  I  should  say  so!  And  women  is  queer 
creatures,  Drew.  Now  any  one  with  an  open  mind 
would  have  been  blamed  glad  when  that  poor  little 
cuss  cut  loose.  It  never  would  have  had  a  show  in 
life;  it  was  a  big  mistake  from  the  beginning,  but 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        183 

after  it  went,  and  was  comfortably  planted  behind 
the  shack,  what  do  you  think  ?  Why,  she  came 
back  one  night  and  dug  him  up  and  put  him  — " 
In  his  endeavour  to  keep  Drew  from  more  unsafe 
topics,  Filmer  had  plunged  straight  into  an 
abyss. 

"Put  him  where?"  Drew  felt  the  gripping  of 
life.  It  hurt,  but  it  stimulated  him.  He  was  suf- 
fering with  his  people  —  his  people !  Joyce's  lovely 
face,  as  he  remembered  it,  pleaded  with  him  for 
sympathy.  It  was  her  face  that  had  first  given 
him  assurance.  She  should  not  call  in  vain. 

"Oh !  back  of  where  she  is  stopping  now.  They've 
made  the  spot  quite  a  little  garden  plot,  and  — " 

"Filmer,  see  here,  tell  me  all  about  it!" 

"Well,  by  thunder,  then,  here  is  the  yarn.  You 
see  in  the  first  place,  you  didn't  marry  Jude  and 
Joyce  as  tight  as  an  older  and  more  experienced 
hand  would  have  done.  I  ain't  blaming  you,  but 
I've  used  the  thought  to  help  me  to  be  more  Chris- 
tian in  my  views  about  what  happened.  The  knot 
you  tied  was  a  slipknot  all  right." 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  sick  man's  face. 

"You  mean  — "  he  began. 

"I  certainly  do.  There  was  a  hell  of  a  — excuse 
me  —  there  was  a  rumpus  of  some  sort  the  night 
the  kid  was  buried.  It  ended  up  with  a  general 
smash-a-reen  of  furniture,  pictures  and  such  —  and 
I  guess  Joyce  came  in  for  a  share  of  bruises,  from 


184        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH   WOODS 

what  has  leaked  out  since.  But  the  outcome  was, 
she  walked  up  to  Gaston's  shack  that  same  evening, 
and  what  happened  there  hasn't  got  into  the  society 
news  yet;  but  when  Jude  and  me  and  Tate  went 
up  to  straighten  out  what  /  thought  was  a  drunken 
lie  of  Lauzoon's,  there  she  was  all  right,  wrapped 
up  in  Gaston's  red  blanket,  his  arm  around  her,  and 
him  asking  what  we  was  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"What  have  you  —  done  ?"  the  even  words  came 
slowly. 

"Nothing.  Jude  evaporated.  I  got  a  bit  of  a 
jog  about  Gaston;  I  ain't  over  virtuous,  but  Gaston 
was  a  sort  of  pattern  to  me,  and  I'd  got  him  into 
my  system  while  we  was  working  on  your  house. 
He  made  me  —  believe  in  something  clean  and  big 
—  and  I  didn't  enjoy  seeing  him  spattered  with  mud 
of  his  own  kicking  up.  But  Lord !  It  ain't  any  of 
my  business." 

"And  the  others  here?  Do  they  make  her  and 
him  — feel  it?" 

Filmer  laughed. 

"You  forget,"  he  replied;  "Gaston's  got  about 
all  the  floating  capital  there  is  around  here.  Where 
he  gets  it,  is  his  own  affair,  and  him  and  Joyce  don't 
ask  no  favours.  The  whole  thing  has  settled  into 
shape.  You  needn't  get  excited  over  it.  Of  course, 
the  women  folks  have  warned  your  aunt  and  sister 
off.  I  believe  they  call  Joyce  the  worst  woman  in 
the  place  —  when  they're  whispering  —  but  they 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   185 

don't  take  any  chances  of  giving  offence  by  speaking 
out  loud." 

"Poor  little  girl!"  Drew's  eyes  were  misty.  He 
shivered  slightly  and  pulled  his  fur  coat  closer  about 
his  chin.  "How  does  she  look,  Filmer  ?" 

"As  handsome  as — well,  a  queen  would  give 
her  back  teeth  to  look  like  Joyce.  I  never  seen  the 
like.  Head  up,  back  as  straight  as  a  pine  sapling, 
eyes  shining  and  hair  like  —  like  mist  with  sunlight 
in  it.  Gaston  has  taught  her  to  speak  like  he  does. 
You  know  he  always  kept  his  language  up-to-date 
and  stylish  ?  Well,  she's  caught  the  trick  now. 
You'd  think  she'd  travelled  the  way  she  hugs  her 
g's  and  d's.  She  trips  over  the  grammar  rules 
occasionally  —  but  I  always  said  they  had  to  be 
born  in  your  blood  to  make  you  sure,  and  even  then 
—  you  have  to  exercise  them  daily." 

"Poor  little  Joyce!  I  always  felt  she  was  only 
half  awake,  as  she  stood  that  day  before  me.  If 
I  had  it  to  do  now  —  I  would  wake  her  up,  before 
I  made  the  tie  fast." 

"Lord  help  us!"  Jock  felt  the  relief  of  an  unbur- 
dened mind;  "is  it  in  your  religion  to  tie  anything 
fast?" 

"Yes;  yes."  Drew  was  looking  over  the  sun- 
lighted  hills  and  thinking  of  that  lovely,  dreaming 
face  of  a  year  ago. 

"And  now,"  Filmer  was  drawling  on,  "while 
you  and  me  are  on  this  sort  of  house-cleaning  spell, 


i86        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

let  me  drop  another  item  of  interest  into  your  think- 
tank.  We-all  up  here  ain't  going  to  stand  for  any 
preaching  business.  I  say  this  outspoken  and 
friendly,  meaning  no  ill  feeling;  just  plain,  what's 
what.  You  see  them  ideas  of  yours  what  you  handed 
out  last  year  set  folks  thinking.  They  sounded 
so  blasted  innercent  and  easy  that  we  all  chewed 
on  'em  for  a  time,  and  some  of  us  got  stung.  Now 
them  as  is  native  here  can't  think  without  suffering; 
and  them  as  came  here,  came  to  get  rid  of  thinking, 
and  so  you  see  none  of  us  want  to  be  riled  along 
that  line.  See?" 

"I  see."  Drew  smiled,  and  stretched  his  thin 
white  hand  out  to  Filmer.  "Thanks.  But  if 
they'll  let  me  live  —  that's  all  I  want.  It's  my 
only  way  of  preaching,  anyhow  —  and  Filmer,  I 
am  going  to  live.  I  feel  the  blood  running  to  my 
heart  and  brain.  I  feel  it  bringing  back  hope  and 
interest  —  a  man  can  make  a  place  for  himself 
anywhere  if  there  are  men  and  women  about.  1 
thought  first  —  back  there  —  when  I  dropped  every- 
thing, that  there  never  could  be  anything  else  worth 
while,  but  I  tell  you  old  man,  if  you  take  even  a 
remnant  of  life  and  love  to  Death's  portal  you're 
always  mighty  glad  to  get  the  chance  to  come  back 
and  see  the  game  out.  It's  when  you  go  empty- 
handed,  that  you  long  to  slip  in  and  have  done 
with  it.  Filmer,  there's  something  yet  left  for  m« 
to  do." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        187 

Jock  was  holding  the  boyish  hand  in  a  grim  grip. 
He  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not.  He  stared  silently 
at  the  muffled  figure  in  the  long  chair,  then  with  an 
impatient  grunt,  dropped  his  hold  and  actually  fled 
in  order  to  hide  the  feelings  that  surged  in  his  heart. 

Left  alone,  Drew  sank  wearily  back  and  closed 
his  eyes.  The  lately-acquired  strength  proved  often 
a  deserter  when  it  was  tested,  and  for  the  moment 
the  sick  man  felt  all  the  depression  and  inertia  of 
the  past.  He  felt,  and  that  was  his  only  gain. 
Before,  he  had  been  too  indifferent  to  feel  or  care. 

"Poor,  little,  pretty  thing!"  he  thought,  with 
Joyce's  face  before  him  against  the  closed  eyelids. 
"She  couldn't  stand  it.  She  didn't  look  as  if  she 
could.  I'm  sorry  she  had  to  find  her  way  out  by 
such  a  commonplace  path.  What  was  Gaston 
thinking  of  to  let  her  ?  He  knew  —  he  should  have 
kept  his  hands  off  and  not  blasted  what  little  hope 
might  have  been  hers." 

Half  dreamily  he  recalled  what  Filmer  had  just 
told  him.  His  weakened  body  held  no  firm  clutch 
on  his  imagination  at  that  time  of  his  life  —  it  ran 
riot,  often  giving  him  abnormal  pleasure  by  its 
vivid  touches;  occasionally  causing  him  excruci- 
ating pain  as  he  suffered,  in  an  exaggerated  way, 
with  suffering. 

He  saw  Joyce,  bruised  and  shuddering  as  a  result 
of  Jude's  cruelty;  he  saw  her  poor  little  idols 
dashed  to  pieces  before  her  eyes;  he  felt  her  grief 


i88       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

for  the  dead  baby,  and  when  he  remembered  Jock's 
account  of  her  taking  the  small  casket  to  the  only 
spot  where  she  herself  was  safe,  the  weak  tears 
rolled  down  his  cold,  thin  face.  He  was  too 
exhausted  and  full  of  pain  to  wipe  them  away. 

He  heard  his  aunt  and  sister  come  out  of  the 
house. 

"Asleep!"  whispered  the  older  woman  in  a  glad 
tone. 

"I'll  go  for  a  walk,"  Constance  added,  tip-toeing 
away.  "Have  the  milk  and  egg  ready  when  he 
wakes,  auntie.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  day  ?  I 
feel  as  if  I  had  just  been  made,  and  placed  in  a 
world  that  hadn't  been  used  up  by  millions  of 
people." 

They   were   gone,    and    Drew   sighed   relievedly. 

Presently  he  opened  his  eyes,  if  he  had  slept 
he  was  not  conscious  of  it,  and  there  sat  the  girl 
of  his  dreams  near  him. 

"Mrs.  -  "  he  faltered,  "Mrs.  Lauzoon,  how  good 
of  you  to  come  and  see  me.  I  hope  you  know  I 
would  have  come  to  you  as  soon  as  I  was  able?" 

Joyce  had  been  studying  his  face  —  nothing  had 
escaped  her:  its  wanness,  the  sharp  outline,  and 
the  tears  congealed  in  the  hollows  of  his  cheeks. 
She  pulled  her  chair  nearer,  and  took  his  extended 
hand. 

"I'm  sorry  you've  been  sick,"  she  said  simply. 

Then  they  smiled  at  each  other. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        189 

It  was  hard  for  Drew  to  readjust  his  ideas  and  fit 
this  beautiful  woman  into  the  guise  of  the  Magda- 
lene of  his  late  thoughts. 

Vaguely  he  saw  that  whatever  she  had  undergone, 
she  had  brought  from  her  experiences  new  beauty; 
a  new  force,  and  a  power  to  guard  her  possessions 
with  marvellous  calm.  She  was  being  made  as 
she  went  along  in  life.  Her  spiritual  and  mental 
architecture,  so  to  speak,  could  not  be  properly 
estimated  until  all  was  finished.  This  conclusion 
chilled  Drew's  enthusiasm.  He  would  have  felt 
kinder  had  she  been  less  sure  of  herself. 

"You  are  looking  —  well,  Mrs.  Lauzoon."  Drew 
felt  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation  growing. 

"Please,  Mr.  Drew,  I'm  just  Joyce  again.  Per- 
haps you  have  not  heard?'*  Her  great  eyes  were 
still  smiling  that  contented,  peaceful  smile. 

"  I've  heard.     Need  we  talk  of  it,  Joyce  ?" 

"Unless  you're  too  weak,  we  must;  now  or  at 
some  other  time.  You  see  I  have  been  waiting  to 
talk  to  you.  I've  been  saying  over  and  over,  'He'll 
understand..  He'll  make  me  sure  that  I've  done 
right.'  " 

Drew,  for  the  life  of  him,  could  not  repress  a 
feeling  of  repulsion.  Joyce  noticed  this,  and  leaned 
back,  folding  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

Drew  saw  that  her  hands  were  white  and  smooth. 
Then  she  gathered  her  heavy,  red  cloak  around  her, 
and  hid  those  silent  marks  of  her  new  refinement. 


190       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"They  call  me"  —  the  old,  half-childish  smile 
came  to  the  face  looking  full  at  Drew  — "  the  worst 
woman  in  town.  At  least,  they  call  me  that  when 
they  think  I  won't  hear.  You  know  they  were 
always  afraid  of  Mr.  Gaston  a  little.  But  I  hear 
and  it  makes  me  laugh." 

The  listener  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment.  He 
could  better  steady  his  moral  sense  when  that  sweet 
beauty  did  not  interfere  with  his  judgment. 

"You  see,  if  I  had  stayed  on — with  Jude,  and 
lived — that  —  awful  life":  a  sudden  awe  stole 
into  her  voice  —  "  then,  if  they  had  thought  of  me 
at  all,  they  would  have  thought  of  me  as — good. 
It  would  have  been  —  good  for  me  to  have  —  poor, 
sad  little  children  —  like  —  like  my  —  my  baby  — 
You've  heard  ?"  Her  lips  were  quivering.  The 
play  of  expression  on  her  face,  the  varying  tones  of 
her  voice  unnerved  Drew.  He  nodded  to  her  ques- 
tion. 

"It  was  such  a  —  dreadful,  little,  crooked  form, 
Mr.  Drew  —  such  —  a  hideous  thing  to  hold  a  — 
a  —  soul.  Just  once,  the  soul  smiled  at  me  through 
the  big,  dark  eyes  —  it  wanted  me  to  know  it  was 
a  soul  —  then  it  went  away." 

Even  while  the  smile  trembled  on  the  girl's  lips 
the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"You  see,"  she  went  on,  "no  one  would  have 
blamed  me  if  I  had  gone  on  like  that  —  the  mis- 
shapen children,  and  soon  they  would  have  stopped 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        191 

having  souls — and  Jude's  cruelty,"  —  again  that 
fearsome  catch  in  the  voice  — "  they  would  have 
called  me  good  —  if  I  had  stayed  on  —  but  you  will 
understand?"  She  bent  toward  him  with  pleading 
and  yearning  in  her  face.  "Oh!  how  I  have  just 
hungered  to  talk  it  over  with  you  —  and  to  feel 
sure!  There  isn't  any  one  else  in  all  the  world, 
you  know,  to  whom  I  could  say  this." 

"How  about  Gaston?"  Drew  heard  his  own 
words,  and  they  sounded  brutal,  but  they  were 
forced  from  him, 

Joyce  stared  surprisedly. 

"  Why  —  we  never  talk  of  —  of  that.  How  could 
we  ?  But  I  read  —  and  Mr.  Gaston  has  taught  me 
to  think  —  straight  —  and  don't  you  notice  how 
much  better  I  talk  ?" 

"Yes  —  and  dress."  All  that  was  hard  in  Drew 
rose  in  arms.  This  girl  was  like  the  rest  of  her  kind 
for  all  her  wood-setting  and  strange  beauty.  The 
only  puzzling  thing  in  the  matter  was  her  desire  to 
talk  it  out  with  him. 

"I  have  lots  of  pretty  things  to  wear."  Joyce 
smoothed  her  heavy  cloak.  "He's  the  kindest  man 
I  ever  knew.  That's  another  reason  I  had  for  want- 
ing to  come  to  you.  I  want  you  to  show  him  just 
bow  you  understand.  I  begin  to  see  how  lonely 
he  is  —  how  lonely  he  has  always  been  up  here  — 
there  is  no  one  quite  like  him  —  but  you.  But 
Mr.  Drew,  do  you  remember  what  you  preached 


IQ2        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

that    day    you — married    us--Jude    and    me,    I 
mean?" 

"I'm  afraid  not  —  so  many  things  have  happened 
since."  Drew  tried  to  keep  his  feelings  in  check. 

"Well,  I  remember  every  word."  The  glowing 
face  again  bent  toward  Drew.  "Can't  you  think 
back  ?  It  was  about  what  we've  brought  into  the 
world,  what  we  get  here  and  shape  into  our  lives, 
and  then  what  we  leave  when  we  go  —  away. 
The  blazed  trail,  you  know,  and  clearing  the  way 
for  others.  Oh,  it  was  the  sort  of  thing  that  when 
you  thought  about  it  you  didn't  dare  go  on  being 
careless." 

"I  do  —  recall."  Her  intensity  was  gripping 
Drew  in  spite  of  himself.  "It  was  an  old  fancy. 
But  it  has  helped  me  to  live." 

"It  has  made  me  live.  I  tried  it  fair  and  honest 
with  Jude,  Mr.  Drew,  but  no  one  could  do  it  with 
him.  The  trail  got  choked  with  —  awful  things  - 
and  I  only  had  strength  enough  to  run  away,  after 
one  year.  If  I  had  stayed  —  I  —  I  would  have 
rotted  as  I  stood."  She  breathed  thick  and  fast. 
Her  old  life,  even  in  memory,  smothered  her.  Drew 
caught  a  slight  impression  of  what  it  must  have  been 
for  this  strange-natured  woman.  He  began  to 
think  she  was  not  yet  awake,  and  the  thought  made 
him  kinder  in  his  estimate  of  her. 

"But,"  he  said  gently,  "was  there  no  other  way 
out  of  your  difficulty  ?" 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        193 

She  looked  pityingly  at  him. 

"I  didn't  go  to  Mr.  Gaston  to — to  stay,"  she 
whispered :  "  there  was  a  reason  for  my  going  — 
a  reason  about  Jude  —  then  things  happened  that 
I  guess  were  meant  to  happen.  There  was  no  other 
way  out  for  me  —  but  I  had  not  thought  that  far. 
I  guess  if  God  ever  took  care  of  any  one,  he  took 
care  of  me  that  night." 

This  utterly  pagan  outlook  on  the  proprieties 
positively  stirred  Drew  to  unholy  mirth.  But  it 
did  something  else  —  it  made  him  realize  that  the 
girl  before  him  was  quite  outside  the  reach  of  any 
of  his  preconceived  ideas.  He  could  afford  to  sit 
down  upon  her  plane  and  feel  no  moral  indignation. 
Perhaps,  after  all,  she  had  brought  his  work  to  him 
when  she  came  herself. 

"You  see,  after  Jude  and  Mr.  Tate  and  Jock 
Filmer  found  me  there  late  at  night  —  there  was 
nothing  else  for  me  to  do.  Jude  would  have  killed 
me  —  if  I  had  gone  away  alone  —  he  was  —  awfuL 
Besides,  where  could  I  have  gone  ?" 

"Gaston  should  have  acted  for  you.  He  knew 
what  he  was  doing  to  you." 

The  righteous  indignation  confused  the  girl. 

"Why,  he  did  act  for  me."  The  fire  sprang  to 
the  wondering  eyes.  "He  is  the  best  man  on  earth. 
There  are  more  ways  of  being  good  than  one.  The 
people  here  can't  see  that  —  but  surely  you  can. 
Mr.  Gaston  made  my  life  safe  and  clean.  I  could 


194        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

grow  better  every  day.  Why,  look  at  me."  She 
flung  her  arms  wide  as  if  by  the  gesture  she  laid 
bare  her  new  life. 

"He  has  taught  me  until  I  can  see  and  think, 
wide  and  sure.  He  is  always  gentle  —  and  he  never 
lets  me  work  until  —  until  I'm  too  tired  to  want 
to  live. 

"Isn't  it  being  good  when  you  are  growing  into 
the  thing  God  meant  you  to  be  ?  Ought  you  not 
to  take  any  way  God  offers  to  reach  that  kind  of 
life?"  Joyce  flung  the  questions  out  fiercely. 
She  was  perplexed  by  Drew's  attitude.  If  he  were 
as  much  like  Gaston  as  she  had  believed,  why  did 
he  look  and  act  as  he  was  doing  ? 

"If  —  if  you  have,  and  if  you  are,  all  that  you 
say,  why  do  you  question  me  so?"  Drew  asked. 
He  was  feeling  his  way  blindly  through  this  new 
moral,  or  unmoral,  thicket. 

"Because  sometimes  a  queer  thought  comes  to 
me.  I  know  it  is  because  these  people  can  not 
understand;  but  you  can,  and  when  you  have  told 
me  it  is  all  right  —  I  shall  never  have  the  thought 
again." 

"What  is  the  thought,  Joyce  ?" 

"You  see,"  she  almost  touched  him  now  in  her 
intensity,  "I  do  not  know  anything  about  Mr. 
Gaston  —  really.  About  what  he  was,  what  his 
life  was  before  he  came  here.  I  would  not  hurt 
him  for  anything  God  could  give  to  me  —  and 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   195 

sometimes  I  have  wondered  if  —  if  in  that  life  that 
was;  the  life  that  might  come  again  to  him,  you  know, 
—  for  he  is  so  different  from  any  one  here  —  I  wonder 
if  what  he  has  done  for  me,  could  hurt  him  ?  Could 
anything  that  is  so  heavenly  good  for  me  —  hurt 
him  ?  —  tell  me,  tell  me!" 

And  now  Drew  dropped  his  eyes  and  sent  a  swift 
prayer  to  God  for  forgiveness. 

He  had  thought  her  without  conscience,  without 
soul.  He  felt  himself  in  a  dim  valley,  and  he  hardly 
dared  to  raise  his  eyes  to  her. 

"I   am  perfectly  happy."     The  words  quivered 
to  him,  and  belied  themselves.     "And  he  says  he  - 
is  —  but  would  he  be  if  he  were  back  there  —  where 
he  came  from  ?     In  my  getting  of  my  life,  am  I 
taking  from  his  ?" 

"Good  God!" 

"You  — you  do  not  understand,  either?" 

"Yes;  I  do,  Joyce  —  I  understand.  I  under- 
stand." 

"Am  I  hurting  him  ?" 

"He  must  answer  that,  Joyce,  no  one  else  can. 
He  must  face  that  some  day,  and  also  whether  he 
is  hurting  you  or  not.  We  cannot  any  of  us  choose 
a  little  sunny  spot  in  life  for  ourselves  and  shut  out 
the  past  and  future  by  a  high  wall.  The  present 
faces  both  ways,  Joyce,  and  light  is  let  in  from  all 
sides.  Light  and  blackest  gloom,  God  help  us! 

"What  Gaston's  other  life  was  —  he  alone  knows 


196       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

—  he  ought  to  tell  you  if  he  hopes  to  help  you  really. 
If  he's  the  good  man  he  seems  to  you,  Joyce,  hew/7/ 
tell  you,  and  give  you  a  chance  to  play  the  game." 
Suddenly  an  inspiration  came  to  Drew.  "Tell 
him,"  he  said  slowly,  "that  I  have  friends  coming 
here  —  friends  who  will  probably  build  summer 
homes  and  introduce  a  new  life.  It's  none  of 
my  business,  perhaps,  but  you've  come  to  me  for 
help  —  and  as  God  shows  me,  I  must  help  you. 
Gaston  has  no  right  to  injure  your  future  by  playing 
a  game  with  you  that  you  in  no  wise  understand. 
It  isn't  fair  —  and  he  knows  it,  if  he  stops  to  think. 
Perhaps  there  was  no  way  for  him  to  help  you  that 
night,  but  the  way  he  took.  Perhaps  he  nobly  did 
the  only  thing  he  could  —  I  hope  to  God  this  is 
true;  but  there  are  other  ways  now,  Joyce — he 
must  know  and  give  you  a  choice." 

"I — I — do  not  see  —  what  you  mean?"  A 
frightened  look  spread  over  Joyce's  face,  and  she 
shivered  even  in  the  full  glow  of  the  autumn  sun- 
light. "I  feel — you  make  me  feel  —  as  if  I  had 
been  —  as  if  I  am  —  shut  in  a  little  room,  with  the 
doors  and  windows  about  to  be  opened.  What  is 
coming  in,  Mr.  Drew  ?  What  am  I  going  to  see  ? 
You  —  you  frighten  me.  I  cannot  —  I  will  not 
believe  —  anything  dreadful  could  happen  to  him 
or  me  —  when  I  am  so  happy  and  safe." 

The  excitement  was  wearing  upon  Drew  fright- 
fully. His  ghastly  face  appealed  suddenly  to  Joyce 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   197 

as   she   looked   at   him   through   her   own   growing 
doubt. 

"I'm  going,"  she  said,  starting  up;  "I've  made 
you  worse.  What  can  I  do?" 

Drew  smiled  wanly  and  held  out  a  trembling 
hand. 

"Come  again,"  he  whispered.  "It's  all  right, 
I'm  much  better  —  than  when  you  came." 

And  so  he  was,  spiritually,  for  he  had  retained 
his  belief  in  God's  goodness,  somehow.  Just  why, 
he  could  not  have  told,  but  had  the  girl  been  what 
he  had,  for  a  moment,  believed,  it  would  all  have 
seemed  so  uselessly  hopeless  and  crude. 

From  the  strange  confession  he  had  obtained  but 
a  blurred  impression,  but  that  impression  saved 
his  faith  in  Joyce,  at  least.  She  was  not  a  bad, 
ignoble  woman.  Whatever  she  had  done,  had  been 
done  from  the  best  that  was  in  her,  and  if  Gaston 
had  accepted  her  sacrifice  he  had,  in  some  way, 
managed  to  keep  himself  noble  in  her  sight. 

It  was  a  baffling  thing  all  around.  A  thing  that 
he  must  approach  from  a  new  standpoint;  the 
one,  the  only  comfort  was,  the  girl's  own  evolution. 
It  was  not  possible  Drew  thought,  that  all  was  evil 
which  had  produced  what  he  had  just  seen. 


CHAPTER  XI 


G  ASTON  often  took  a  trip  to  Hillcrest, 
remaining  several  days,  at  times,  and 
Joyce  never  questioned.  Gradually  she 
had  accepted  the  place  in  Gaston's  life  that  he  had 
allotted  her  without  expectation  or  regret.  To  live 
in  the  light  and  joy  of  his  presence  had  become 
enough  —  almost  enough.  She  studied,  and  sought 
to  be  what  he  desired.  She  was,  after  the  very 
first,  genuinely  happy  and  full  of  quaint  sweetness. 
As  the  black  interval  of  her  life  faded,  she  turned 
with  grateful  appreciation  to  the  present  and  played 
the  part  expected  of  her  in  an  amazing  manner. 

Sometimes  that  disturbing  doubt,  hardly  strong 
enough  to  be  classified,  made  her  pause,  wide-eyed 
and  still,  but  it  fled  before  Gaston's  laugh  and  jest. 

With  Drew's  coming  she  grasped  the  subtle 
restlessness  and  comforted  herself  with  the  thought 
that  he  who  understood  so  much,  he,  who  was, 
in  kind,  like  Gaston,  he  would  clear  away  the 
elusive  doubt  forever. 

She  had  never  forgotten  that  it  was  Drew  who 
had  first  set  her  feet  on  the  upward  path;  he,  above 
all  others,  would  be  glad  of  her  better  life,  and  sym- 
pathize with  her  happiness. 

198 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   199 

When  she  pondered  upon  Gaston's  possible  past, 
she  felt  guilty.  What  he  did  not  entrust  to  her,  she 
had  no  right  to  consider  —  so  she  tried  to  push  the 
thought  away.  She  was  glad  of  so  good  an  excuse 
for  putting  a  fretting  thing  aside.  But  it  would  not 
remain  hidden.  During  Gaston's  absences  it  reared 
its  hated  head  —  with  his  return  it  slunk  into  shadow. 

Taking  advantage  of  one  of  Gaston's  brief  visits 
from  home,  Joyce  had  gone  to  Drew,  timing  her  call 
when  she  knew  his  womenkind  were  away.  She  had 
an  instinctive  aversion  to  her  own  sex.  She  had 
thought  it  was  contempt  for  St.  Ange  womanhood; 
she  did  not  speculate  about  these  others. 

Her  talk  with  the  young  minister,  instead  of 
clearing  her  sky  of  the  tiny  cloud,  had  resulted  in  a 
general  atmosphere  of  doubts  and  shapeless  fears 
that  doomed  her  days  to  unhappiness,  and  her  lonely 
nights  to  actual  misery. 

Things  were  not  right.  That  was  the  over- 
powering conviction  that  grew  apace.  If  she  knew 
all  —  all  what  ?  Well,  if  she  insisted  upon  knowing 
all  —  what  would  happen  ? 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  and  frantically 
turned  to  bodily  toil  in  order  to  down  the  spectre 
which  DW  confronted  her  with  brazen  insistence. 
Thinp :  must  go  on  as  before.  Ralph  Drew  was 
nothing  but  a  boy  —  what  were  his  opinions  com- 
pared to  Gaston's  ?  Gaston  could  do  no  wrong. 
She  was  content  to  abide  by  his  decree. 


200        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

She  sang,  and  turned  from  one  task  to  another 
with  determined  haste.  At  one  moment  she  vowed 
the  subject  should  never  be  thought  of  again;  the 
next,  she  promised  herself  that  she  would  put  the 
whole  matter  before  Gaston  as  soon  as  he  returned, 
and,  by  so  doing,  prove  the  unimportance  of  the 
thing.  But  whichever  way  she  looked  at  it,  she 
hourly  grew  to  dread  Gaston's  return.  Life  was 
never  going  to  be  the  same.  Something  was  going 
to  happen! 

Oh,  she  had  often  had  these  premonitions  before. 
Gaston  laughed  at  them,  and  called  her  funny 
names  when  she  voiced  them  to  him. 

Three  days  and  nights  dragged  on,  after  that  visit 
to  Drew,  before  Gaston  came  back. 

The  house  had  been  cleaned  and  recleaned  until 
it  shone.  The  fire  was  kept  brilliant,  and  Joyce 
donned,  in  turn,  every  pretty  bit  of  adornment  that 
she  owned.  She  decked  the  pictures  with  ground- 
pine,  and,  in  the  act  of  preparing  the  dishes  for  supper 
that  Gaston  liked  best,  he  found  her. 

"Hello,  little  girl,"  he  called  cheerily;  "it  look 
like  Christmas.  It's  lucky  I  have  some  presents  in 
my  pack.  I  believe  you  fixed  up  to  catch  me,  and 
make  me  feel  like  a  tight-wad.  But  I'm  one  to  the 
good.  Don't  peek.  After  supper  we'll  have  a 
lark.  Have  you  a  kiss  fey  way  of  welcome  ? " 

Joyce  turned  from  the  lamp  she  was  lighting,  and 
put  both  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   201 

"Oh,  but  it's  good  to  have  you  back!"  she  said, 
and  raised  her  lips  to  his. 

This  fond  response  to  him  was  the  greatest  recom- 
pense the  change  in  their  lives  had  brought  to 
Gaston.  It  warmed  the  lonely  places  of  his  heart. 

It  was  a  jovial  meal  that  followed.  Gaston  was 
hungry,  the  food  was  excellent,  and  Joyce  glowed 
and  beamed  in  the  atmosphere  of  regained  trust. 

It  was,  though,  a  fleeting  peace.  When  the  dishes 
were  removed,  Gaston  noticed  how  tired  she  looked. 

"  Happy  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  laugh. 

"Perfectly."     Joyce  was  rilling  his  pipe. 

"Perfectly  nothing!"  he  exclaimed,  drawing  her 
Jown  to  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "Now  own  up,  my 
lady,  what  have  you  been  doing?" 

Gaston  expected  a  rehearsal  of  daily  tasks,  more 
energetically  performed,  perhaps,  than  was  neces- 
sary. 

"I  went  to  see  Mr.  Drew."  The  smile  fled  from 
Gaston's  face.  So  it  was  not  housework ! 

"How  is  the  young  D.  D.  ?" 

"He  looks  very  ill,  but  they  say  he  is  getting 
better." 

"Did  you  have  a  pleasant  call?* 

Gaston  was  unreasonably  annoyed,  but  he  was 
curious  also. 

Joyce  dropped  her  eyes.  In  a  subtle  way  Gaston 
felt  a  change  in  her.  She  was  never  anything  but 
direct  and  truthful  with  him,  her  attitude  was  now, 


202        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

therefore,  more  significant.  He  had  beaten  hii 
life,  his  personal  life,  into  a  monotonous  round 
outlined  on  that  first  night  when  Joyce  had  been  thrust 
into  his  care.  He  had  grown  to  think  that  emotions 
were  dead  and  done  with;  this  sudden  realization 
that  the  first  touch  from  the  outer  world  could 
disturb  his  calm,  irritated  him  beyond  measure. 

"  Mr.  Drew  was  very  —  kind,"  Joyce's  voice 
fell  dully  upon  Gaston's  impatience;  "he's  coming  — 
to  see  us!" 

"The  devil  he  is!"  The  outburst  seemed  so 
childish  that  Gaston  laughed,  and  his  gloom  passed. 

By  persistent  practice  he  had  felled  every  cir- 
cumstance to  a  dead  level  —  he  would  raze  this 
new  element,  too,  to  the  ground,  and  things  would 
assume  the  old  placidity. 

"We'll  welcome  him  when  he  comes,  Joyce.  I'm 
a  selfish  brute  and  don't  want  to  be  disturbed; 
but  of  course  any  one  who  cares  to  come  will  be 
welcome." 

She  shot  a  swift  glance  at  him,  then  her  eyes  fell. 

Gaston  stared  at  her,  and  his  face  flushed.  It 
had  not  been  easy  during  the  past  year  to  keep  the 
man  in  him  under  control,  but  he  had  begun  to 
think,  lately,  the  victory  was  assured.  So  confident 
was  he  of  himself,  that  he  had  planned  a  final  test 
in  order  to  make  sure  the  future  held  no  danger  for 
him  —  and  her! 

He    sometimes    wondered,    if   she    were    placed 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   203 

in  different  environment,  surrounded  by  luxuries 
and  admiration,  how  she  would  appear;  and  how 
she  would  affect  him.  In  a  way  he  had  educated  her 
and  refined  her.  He  had  grown  used  to  her  and 
taken  her  for  granted,  but  there  were  moments 
when  she  perplexed  him. 

His  visit  to  Hillcrest  was  connected  with  his  little 
plan  to  test,  in  a  fashion,  this  woman  he  had  helped 
to  form. 

Her  announcement  about  Drew  had  diverted  his 
thought,  but  he  returned  now  to  his  own  interests. 
Again  he  wondered  if,  after  all  he  had  done  for  her, 
she  could  rise  above  Jude  and  St.  Ange  to  a  degree 
that  might  touch  him  —  that  part  of  him  that  he 
hoped  he  had  conquered  forever. 

If  she  could  —  then  —  but  he  would  not  anticipate. 
Drew's  advent  had  focussed  his  desire  to  put  himself, 
and  her,  to  the  test.  Joyce  had  precipitated  matters, 
that  was  all. 

"Joyce!" 

She  was  bending  to  place  a  log  upon  the  fire. 

"None  of  that!  When  I'm  at  home,  the  big  logs 
are  for  me." 

She  laughed  brightly.  To  be  so  guarded  and 
cared  for  never  ceased  to  be  exciting. 

"And  now  for  my  surprise!  It's  a  corker  this 
time,  Joyce." 

Gaston  walked  to  the  lean-to  room  and  brought 
out  two  boxes. 


204        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Take  them  to  your  room,  and  put  them  on";  he 
said. 

There  were  always  surprises  when  Gaston  returned 
from  Hillcrest.  From  out  the  Somewhere,  some- 
how there  drifted  marvellous  things  —  books,  pic- 
tures, dresses,  dainty  slippers  and  home  furnishings. 
Things  that  St.  Ange  gaped  silently  upon.  Joyce 
never  asked  questions.  Like  a  child  she  shielded 
this  fairy-like  mystery  from  her  own  curiosity.  She 
was  happier  not  to  know. 

But  to-night  the  boxes  seemed  heavy.  Not  from 
what  they  held,  but  from  the  weight  of  her  unrest, 
which  was  returning  with  added  force. 

She  obeyed,  however,  with  that  quivering  smile 
still  upon  her  lips.  Almost  staggering  under  the 
load,  she  turned  and  entered  the  chamber  that  had 
once  been  Gaston's.  It  was  a  woman's  room  now 
in  every  sense.  Gone  were  the  rough  furniture,  the 
pipes  and  books.  In  their  places  were  the  white 
bed,  the  low  rocker,  the  many  trifles  that  go  to  meet 
the  endless  whims  of  a  woman's  fancy  and  taste.  It 
was  an  odd  room  for  the  shack  of  a  backwoodsman. 
It  had  taken  Joyce  long  to  settle  into  it  comfort- 
ably. Her  brief  apprenticeship  in  the  home  that 
Gaston  had  helped  Jude  make  for  her  was  the 
only  preparation  she  had  had  for  ease  among  these 
refinements. 

Once  within  the  shelter  now,  Joyce  almost  flung 
the  boxes  from  her.  It  was  dark  and  cold  in  the 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   205 

room,  and  the  stillness  soothed  her.  She  groped  her 
way  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the  little 
mound  near  the  pines,  where  all  that  was  really  her 
own  —  her  very  own  —  lay.  It  had  always  been  a 
comfort  to  have  the  little  body  so  near  her  place  of 
safety.  She  had  ceased  to  grieve  when  once  the 
baby  was  brought  away  from  the  ruin  of  the  former 
home;  but  to-night  the  small  oval,  under  its 
crust  of  glittering  snow,  made  her  shudder.  It 
was  her  own  —  but  oh!  it  was  cold  and  , dead  like 
all  the  rest  of  her  hope  and  joy.  ^£he  knew  it  now. 
Not  even  Gaston's  coming^kstT  cleared  the  doubt. 

She  had  believed,  herself  so  good  and  happy  — • 
and  here  it  was  made  plain,  horribly  plain.  Every- 
thing was  wrong.  It  had  always  been  wrong. 

But  she  dared  not  shrink  into  her  pain.  She 
must  obey,  and  play  her  part.  Awkwardly  she 
lighted  her  lamp;  tremblingly  she  untied  the  boxes  — 
they  bore  the  same  mystic  signs  and  the  oft-repeated 
words,  "New  York/'  It  did  not  matter.  New 
York  or  the  New  Jerusalem,  one  was  as  unreal  as 
the  other  to  the  backwoods  girl. 

Oh,  but  here  was  surprise  indeed! 

Joyce  had  not,  as  yet,  sunk  so  far  in  doubt  and 
apprehension,  but  that  the  contents  of  the  boxes 
moved  her  to  interest  and  delight. 

A  gown  of  golden  silk,  clinging  and  long.  The 
daintiest  of  gloves,  silken  hose,  and  satin  slippers. 
Filmy  skirts,  and  bewildering  ruffles  of  cobwebby 


206       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

lace.  What  wild  imagination  ever  conceived  of 
such  witcheries;  and  what  power  could  command 
their  materialization  in  the  North  Woods  ? 

Joyce  sank  beside  the  boxes,  gasping  with  delight. 
Then  suddenly,  as  the  shock  of  pleasurable  surprise 
passed,  the  mockery  of  the  gift  struck  her.  Down 
went  the  humbled  head,  and  the  girl  wept  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

Gaston  was  playing  with  her.  She  had  not  been 
keen  enough  to  understand,  but  all  along  he  had 
amused  himself  at  her  expense.  Having  had  her 
thrust  upon  him  by  circumstances,  he  had  accepted 
the  situation  in  his  good-natured  way,  but  under- 
neath it  was  as  cruel  as  —  all  else  in  her  life. 

She  had  been  an  ignorant,  blind  fool.  Never  had 
Gaston  been  so  daring  with  her.  Other  pretty 
gifts  had  found  a  place,  and  supplied  a  want,  in  their 
common  life;  but  this  —  this  —  oh!  the  incongruity 
was  cruel  and  —  insulting. 

Joyce  could  not  analyze  all  this  —  she  merely 
felt  it.  But  when  it  had  sunk  to  the  depths  of  her 
aroused  instinct,  the  reaction  took  place.  Had  the 
girl  been  ugly  physically,  or  had  Gaston  debased 
her,  her  doom  would  have  been  fixed;  but  there  was 
a  —  chance! 

In  the  death  throes  of  her  false  position,  she 
retraced  the  steps  of  her  life  with  Gaston.  With 
a  sickening  shudder  she  recalled  her  mad  fear  that 
first  awful  night  when  he  had  shut  the  door  upon 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       207 

Jude  and  the  others.  How  he  had  made  her  feel, 
and  at  once,  that  from  the  high  place  that  was  his, 
he  could  afford  to  help  her,  and  only  the  low  and 
vile  would  misunderstand.  It  was  because  she 
Vv^as  low  and  vile  as  Jude  had  made  her  that  she  had 
feared  —  what  ? 

How  the  knowledge  had  stung,  then  stunned 
her!  She  might  have  known,  had  she  remembered, 
from  the  first  Gaston  had  always  driven  her  back 
upon  herself  when  her  foolish  passion  for  him 
reared  its  head. 

No  one  of  his  own  kind  would  ever  have  been 
led  into  a  misunderstanding  of  his  motives  and 
goodness. 

Then  in  the  days  that  followed  that  first  terrible 
night,  she  had  abased  herself  and  striven  to  fill  the 
role  Gaston  prepared  for  her! 

Later  she  studied  and  silently  prayed  that,  in  a  small 
way,  she  might  repay  him  for  his  divine  kindness! 

But  with  the  patient  effort  and  the  marvellous 
results  of  quickened  mentality,  a  clear  space  was 
left  in  the  new  woman  for  harrowing  doubt.  She 
never  again  sank  to  the  thought  that  Gaston  could 
love  her;  but  she  could  not  utterly  blind  herself 
to  the  fear  that  he  might  be  hurting  himself  through 
others  not  realizing  the  difference  between  him  and 
her.  Naturally  she  could  not  go  to  Gaston  with  this 
doubt  —  it  would  seem  an  insult  to  him,  and  a 
shameless  suggestion. 


208       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Therefore  she  hailed  Drew's  advent  with  mingled 
apprehension  and  relief.  Had  he  taken  for  granted 
that  all  was  well;  had  he  seemed  glad  that  Gaston 
had  saved  her  from  her  evil  fate;  then  she  would  have 
known  that  such  people  as  Gaston  and  Drew  would 
understand  and  think  no  evil.  But  the  effect  of 
Gaston's  training  and  influence  had  sunk  deep. 
Joyce  had  risen  above  the  vile  thing  Jude  and  St. 
Ange  had  tried  to  make  her.  She  was,  for  all  the 
wide  difference  between  her  and  Gaston,  a  woman! 
A  woman  beautiful  and  alive  to  the  highest  degree. 
She  dared  not  any  longer  ignore  that.  For  Gaston's 
sake  she  must  face  the  blinding  truth. 

Crouching  beside  the  boxes  of  finery  that  he  had 
thought  she  could  not  understand,  Joyce  clenched 
her  hands  in  an  agony  of  consecration  and  renuncia- 
tion. Then  despair  seized  her,  and  for  a  wild 
moment  she  was  tempted  to  use  Gaston's  own  weapon 
against  him. 

Heretofore  she  had  accepted  his  gifts  with  a  child's 
delight  —  what  a  fool  she  had  been!  Suppose 
now  she  should  — well,  take  what  she  could  get 
from  life  in  spite  —  yes,  in  spite  of  Gaston  himself? 

Dare  she  ?  Could  she  ?  Would  she  be  able  to 
do  anything  when  she  faced  him,  but  fall  at  his  feet, 
beg  for  mercy,  and  implore  him  to  tell  her  what 
her  awakened  conscience  demanded  ? 

She  would  try. 

The  colour  rose  and  fell  in  the  lovely  face.     She 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        209 

was  beautiful,  and  she  loved  him.  She  had  never 
let  him  see  how  much;  or  how.  He  should  see  now! 
She  would  try  her  meanest  and  basest  weapon  — 
and  if — if — it  conquered,  she  would  make  — 
terms.  She,  poor,  dependent  Joyce  of  the  back- 
woods. Old  Jared's  girl.  Jude  Lauzoon's  dis- 
carded wife.  If  she  won  a  victory,  what  a  victory  it 
would  be! 

It  would  prove  to  Drew  —  she  rose  defiantly,  and 
snatched  the  finery  from  the  boxes.  Her  eyes  were 
blazing  and  her  blood  ran  hotly.  Before  her  little 
mirror  she  let  the  garments  of  her  past  life  fall  from 
her.  She  unpinned  her  glorious  hair,  and  thrilled 
as  its  convincing  beauty  gave  added  power  to  her 
plans. 

Slowly,  carefully,  with  a  pictured  ideal  in  her 
memory,  she  fashioned  the  wonderful  tresses  into 
form.  High  upon  her  head  the  glistening  mass  was 
fastened,  then  cunningly  the  little  curls  were  pulled 
loose,  and  were  permitted  to  go  free  about  the 
smooth  brow  and  white  neck. 

Then  with  an  instinct  that  did  not  play  her  false, 
she  donned  the  marvellous  garments. 

She  was  finished  at  last.  The  new,  palpitating 
woman.  All  that  belonged  to  the  old  Joyce  seemed 
to  have  fallen,  with  the  discarded  garments,  to  the 
floor. 

She  did  not  doubt  her  power  now.  She  was  not 
afraid.  Something  was  going  to  happen  —  again 


210       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

she  experienced  the  sensation.  It  had  come  first 
in  this  very  shack,  when  her  childhood  had  departed, 
and  the  woman  in  her  had  been  born.  A  poor, 
dull  woman,  to  be  sure;  still,  a  woman. 

She  had  felt  it,  too,  the  Sunday  of  her  marriage, 
when  Drew  had  called  to  her  conscience  and  spirit- 
uality, and  set  the  chords  of  suffering  and  hope 
vibrating.  From  that  hour  to  this  she  had  been 
climbing  painfully  to  what  was  about  to  occur. 

Well,  she  was  ready.  The  bewitching  smile 
played  over  her  face.  Tiptoeing  across  the  bedroom 
floor,  she  noiselessly  unfastened  the  door,  and  silently 
reached  Gaston's  side. 

He  had  quite  forgotten  her.  Weary  from  the 
day's  work,  perplexed  by  later  developments,  with 
closed  eyes,  and  hands  clasped  behind  his  head, 
he  was  lost  in  thought. 

Joyce  touched  him  lightly,  and  he  looked  up. 

She  had  taken  him  off  guard.  Her  bewildering 
beauty  attacked  his  senses  while  his  shield  of  Purpose 
was  down. 

"Good  God!'*  he  exclaimed  staring  at  her. 
"You — you  glorious  creature!" 

She  laughed,  and  the  sound  thrilled  the  man  as 
her  beauty  did.  It  was  new,  and  wonderful.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet  and  reached  out  to  her  like  a 
man  blinded  by  a  sudden  glare. 

She  evaded  his  touch,  and  gave  that  wild  little 
laugh  again. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       211 

"You  like  it  ?"  she  asked,  from  across  the  table. 

"  Like  it  ?    You  —  are  —  divine ! " 

"  Why  —  did  —  you  —  do  it  ? " 

"  I  had  a  mad  fancy  to  see  just  how  great  your  — 
beauty  was." 

"And  — you  see?" 

"Heavens!     I  do  see." 

"And  you  think?" 

"What  any  man  would  think,"  Gaston's  excite- 
ment was  rising,  "who  had  been  starved  for  — 
years  —  and  then  finds  all  he's  hungered  for  —  alone 
in  the  North  Woods.  Think  ? " 

The  breaking  of  a  flaming  log  startled  them,  and 
it  steadied  Gaston  for  a  moment.  Joyce  had  herself 
well  in  hand.  The  victory  was  hers  if  only  she  could 
command  this  new  power  long  enough. 

"Please,"  she  pleaded,  "please  sit  down.  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 


CHAPTER  XII 

G ASTON  sank  back  in  his  chair,  and  Joyce 
sat  down  opposite.     The  table  was  between 
them,  and  the  light  of  the  fire  and  lamp 
flooded  over  the  girl. 

She  was  wonderful  in  that  gown,  and  with  her 
splendid,  pale  hair  framing  her  face  with  its  fair 
glory. 

The  shock  of  surprise  was  passing,  but  Gaston 
still  looked  at  the  girl  as  if  he  had  never  seen  her 
before. 

"What  is  it,  Joyce?"  he  asked  presently;  "what 
has  changed  you  so?"  Then  he  smiled,  for  the 
question  seemed  crude  and  ill-advised. 

"The  dress  — isn't  that  what  you  wanted  ?" 
"  I  do  not  mean  the  dress — there  is  something  else." 
"So  there  is  —  but  it  came  with  the  dress.  Per- 
haps you  —  did  not  order  that  —  well,  then,  it 
must  be  your  part  of  the  surprise.  Don't  you 
remember  that  story  you  read  to  me  once  —  about 
the  mantle  of  Elijah  ?  You  know  it  made  the 
humble  wearer  —  great.  Well,  these  pretty  things," 
—  she  touched  them  lightly  —  "  they  make  me  — 
a  woman.  The  sort  of  woman  who  must  —  ask 
questions  —  and  get  answers  —  true  answers." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       213 

"Why,  don't  you  trust  —  me  ?" 

The  pained  question  was  wrung  from  Gaston's 
lips.  The  steady  look  from  the  big  eyes  went 
strangely  to  his  heart. 

"I  —  do  —  not  know  —  you  —  as  you  —  are 
now,"  she  said  firmly. 

"It  is  not  I  who  am  changed,  Joyce,  it  is  you. 
Everything  is  just  the  same  except  that  I  see  you  are 
more  —  wonderful  than  I  dreamed." 

"Nothing  is  going  to  be  the  same  again.  I  knew 
it  while  Mr.  Drew  was  talking  the  other  day  —  I 
have  thought  it  all  out  since." 

"Curse  him!"  Gaston  broke  in;  "what  did  he 
say  ?  Why  did  you  go  to  him  Joyce  ?  How  could 
you?" 

There  was  pain  in  the  words  —  pain  and  a  dumb 
fear. 

"It  only  happened  to  be  Mr.  Drew.  Some  one 
would  have  made  me  know  in  time." 

"Joyce;"  he  was  actually  pleading  with  her! 
The  knowledge  burnt  into  the  quickening  soul. 
"Joyce,  what  did  you  trust  in  me,  before  you  went 
to  Drew?" 

"Your  goodness  —  your  —  unselfishness.  I  knew 
the  goodness  —  I  have  only  begun  to  see  the  — 
unselfishness." 

"My  unselfishness?  Good  heavens!"  In  spite 
of  the  strangeness  of  it  all,  Gaston  laughed.  Then 
an  impatience  stifled  him.  A  brute  instinct  drove 


214        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

him  on.  Her  beauty  had  captured  his  senses, 
and  he  meant  to  tear  down  the  pitiful  wall  he  had 
upbuilded  between  her  and  him,  and  force  her  to 
see  the  inevitable. 

He  had  wondered  if  she  could  stir  him  —  well  he 
knew  now.  What  idiots  they  had  both  been! 

He  was  through  with  the  Past  forever.  The 
Past  that  had  hold  him  to  a  false  ideal.  There 
should  be  no  more  imbecile  philosophy  in  the  North 
Woods  as  far  as  he  and  she  were  concerned. 

"See  here/*  he  began,  and  his  voice  was  almost 
hard;  "don't  you  know  when  I  shut  you  away  from 
what  you  knew  as  danger  —  Jude  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  hell  that  went  with  him  —  I  shut  you  away 
from  what  people  —  people  like  Drew  and  his  set  — 
know  as  mercy  ? " 

Joyce's  eyes  widened,  but  she  did  not  speak. 
Gaston  rushed  on  —  he  wanted  the  scene  over. 
She  was  too  heavenly  beautiful  sitting  there,  he 
must  bring  her  closer. 

"They  would  call  you — well,  they  wouldn't 
tali  you  a  good  woman.  They  are  very  particular 
about  their  women.  In  a  way,  you  must  have  known 
this,  Joyce.  You've  played  the  game  like  a  thorough- 
bred, and  when  one  considers  how  you've  played  it, 
the  wonder  grows  —  but  they'd  never  believe  that  - 
even  if  we  told  them.  Great  heavens!  how  could 
they,  if  they  saw  you  ? 

"That  there  was  no  other  way  for  me  to  help  you 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       215 

then,  that  you  had  no  other  shelter  in  God's  world 
would  not  alter  the  case  at  all.  And  I've  been  a 
fool,  Joyce,  a  maudlin  fool  —  all  along!" 

The  woman  opposite  was  looking  at  him  through 
tears,  but  the  sweet  mouth  was  quivering  pitifully. 

"Joyce";  the  tone  caused  the  tear-dimmed  eyes 
to  close;  "let  us  face  the  music  —  and  —  dance 
along  to  the  tune." 

Gaston  leaned  toward  her  and  when  she  dared 
to  look  at  him  she  saw  that  the  future  was  in  her 
hands! 

"You  — you  thought  I  knew  this  all  along  ?" 

"  In  a  way  —  yes ! " 

Joyce's  eyes  dropped  and  a  flush  rose  to  her  pale, 
still  face. 

"  Then  those  —  those  people  —  the  good  people, 
what  would  they  have  thought  about  you  ?" 

"Oh!  some  would  have  thought  me  a — damned 
scoundrel;  and  they  would  have  been  right  had  I 
ever  intended  to  leave  you  to  their  mercy.  Others  — 
well,  others  — " 

"Please  tell  me,  you  see  I  want  to  understand 
everything  and  that  world  is  not  mine  —  you  know." 

"The  others,"  —  and  now  Gaston  dropped  his 
own  eyes  — "  the  others  would  have  forgotten  all 
about  it  —  had  I  chosen  to  go  back!" 

"  But  they  —  would  not  have  forgotten  about  me  ?" 

"No.     That  is  their  imbecile  code." 

"And  —  and  men  know  that  and  yet — "     Her 


216       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

eyes  widened  in  a  dumb  terror  —  "why,  they  are 
worse  than  —  the  people  of  St.  Ange!" 

Suddenly  Gaston  flung  his  head  back  and  looked 
full  at  the  beautiful  face.  It  was  radiant,  but  the 
eyes  were  overflowing.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  she, 
coming  out  from  her  shadows,  were  bringing  all 
wronged  womanhood  with  her. 

"You  know  Joyce,  you  must  have  known  no 
matter  what  else  you  thought,  and  you  must  know 
now,  I  never  meant  to  leave  you  to  their — mercy  ?" 

He  knew  that  he  was  speaking  truth  to  her  and 
it  gave  him  courage. 

"Yes;  yes!"  she  cried.  "I  know  that  above  all 
and  everything." 

Joyce  saw  that  she  was  gaining  power.  She 
knew  that,  marvellous  as  it  seemed,  she  was  to  shape 
their  future  lives.  But  she  must  have  the  sky  clear. 
Gaston,  she  felt,  recognized  this  as  well  as  she.  He 
expected  but  one  outcome;  he  saw  her  love,  and  was 
willing  to  show  his  own,  now  that  the  barriers  were 
down. 

"We  need  ask  nothing!"  he  said  softly;  "and 
there  are  deeper  woods  to  the  north,  dear." 

"Can  you  —  will  you  —  tell  me  about  yourself 
before  —  you  came  here  ?" 

The  question  was  asked  simply  and  it  was  proof, 
if  any  were  needed,  that  the  past  false  position  was 
utterly  annihilated. 

Gaston    accepted    the    changed    conditions    with 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   217 

no  sense  of  surprise.  He  acknowledged  her  right 
to  all  that  she  desired. 

"When  I  said,  a  time  back";  he  began  slowly; 
"that  they  —  those  good  people  we  were  talking 
about  —  would  let  me  into  their  world  if  I  —  left 
you";  his  fingers  closed  firmer  over  her  hands;  "I 
did  not  tell  you  that  there  is  another  reason  why 
they  would  not  let  me  in.  They  could  overlook 
some  things  —  but  not  others.  Suppose  I  should 
tell  you  that  I  had  done  a  wrong  that  was  worse, 
in  their  eyes,  than  almost  anything  else  ?" 

"I  would  not  believe  it!'* 

"  But  that  is  God's  truth." 

She  grew  a  little  paler,  but  she  did  not  withdraw 
her  hands. 

With  smarting  recollection  Gaston  remembered 
how,  back  there  in  the  old  life,  two  small  hands  had 
slipped  from  his  at  a  like  confession. 

"I've  been  a  weak  fellow  from  the  start,  Joyce. 
I  haven't  even  had  the  courage  to  do  a  big,  bad  thing 
for  myself.  I've  let  them  I  loved,  use  me.  I've 
lost  my  idea  of  right  in  my  depraved  craving  for 
appreciation.  That  sort  of  sin  is  the  worst  kind. 
It  damns  one's  self  and  makes  the  one  you've  tried 
to  serve,  hate  you." 

He  saw  that  she  was  trying  to  follow  him,  but 
could  not  clearly,  so  he  dropped  all  but  brutal  facts. 

"  When  I  stepped  off  the  train  at  St.  Ange,  a  few 
years  back,  I  took  the  name  of  Gaston,  because  I 


2i8        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

dared  not  speak  my  own  name,  and  I  didn't  like 
to  go  by  the  number  that  I  had  been  known  by  for 
—  five  years." 

"Number?"  she  whispered,  and  her  frightened 
eyes  glanced  about.  She  was  not  afraid  of  him, 
but  fot  him.  Gaston  saw  that. 

"Never  fear,"  he  reassured  her;  "it  was  all 
worked  out.  I  paid  that  debt,  but  I  wanted  to 
forget  the  transaction.  I  thought  I  could,  up  here  — 
but  I  reckoned  without  you!" 

"Go  on,"  she  said  hoarsely.  The  clock  struck 
eleven,  the  logs  fell  apart  —  she  was  in  a  hurry. 

"You  know  there  is  an  odd  little  couplet  that 
used  to  please  me  when  I  was  —  paying  up.  It  goes 
like  this: 

Two  men  looked  out  of  the  prison  bars, 
The  one  saw  mud,  the  other,  the  stars. 

"There  were  a  lot  of  us  who  saw  stars,  for  all  the 
belief  to  the  contrary;  and  even  the  mud-seers  had 
their  moments  of  star-vision — behind  the  prison  bars. 

"Birthdays  and  Ghristmases  played  the  deuce 
with  them."  Gaston  was  off  the  trail  now  that  he 
dared  voice  the  memories  of  the  past.  They  had 
so  long  haunted  him.  They  might  pass  if  he  could 
tell  them  to  another. 

"Go  on,"  Joyce  said,  impatiently  glancing  at  the 
clock  as  if  her  time  were  short.  "  Please  go  on.  It 
doesn't  matter  about  that.  What  was  before,  and  — 
and  what  must  come,  now?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   219 

"It  does  matter,"  Gaston  came  back.  "It  was 
that  determination  of  mine  not  to  be  finished  by  that 
phase  of  my  life,  that  left  strength  in  me  to  be  halfway 
decent  since.  I  only  meant  to  regain  my  health  up 
here.  I  meant  to  go  back  to  the  life  I  had  deserted 
and  make  good  before  them  all  —  but  something 
happened/' 

"Yes."  Gaston's  face  had  clouded,  and  Joyce 
had  to  recall  him. 

"You  see  it  was  this  way.  There  were  a  lot  of 
people  —  but  only  four  mattered.  My  mother, 
my  brother,  the  girl  and  her  father." 

The  hands  under  Gaston's  slipped  away,  but  he 
did  not  notice. 

"My  mother  had  a  heart  trouble,  she  could  not 
bear  much  —  and  she  always  loved  my  brother 
best.  He  had  the  look  and  way  with  him  that  made 
it  easy  for  her  to  prefer  him.  I  believed  the  —  girl 
cared  most  for  me  —  that  was  what  kept  things 
going  all  right  for  a  time  —  her  father  liked  me  best, 
I  knew. 

"I  had  a  position  of  trust,  the  control  of  much 
money,  and  my  head  got  turned,  I  suppose  —  for 
JL  felt  sure  of  everything;  myself  included.  Then 
things  happened  all  of  a  sudden. 

"My  brother  found  that  the  girl  cared  for  me, 
not  him;  it  broke  him  up,  and  that  brought  on  an 
ati-»rk  of  sickness  for  my  mother.  She  never  could 
bear  to  see  him  suffer.  My  own  happiness  was 


220       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

twisted  out  of  shape  by  what  I  saw  was  to  be  the 
result  of  my  gain  over  his  loss. 

"One  night  he  came  to  me  and  told  me 
that  his  investments  had  gone  wrong;  our 
mother's  fortune  along  with  the  rest.  A  certain 
sum  of  money,  right  then,  would  tide  over  the 
critical  situation. 

"There  was  no  chance  but  that  all  would  come 
out  right.  He  had  private  information  that  a  few 
days  would  change  the  current.  He  would  come 
out  to  the  good  —  if  only  — " 

"And  you?"  Joyce  held  him  with  her  wide> 
terrified  stare. 

"Oh,  yes!  I  didn't  think  there  was  any  danger, 
and  it  seemed  a  chance  to  help  when  everything  was 
about  to  come  clattering  around  our  ears.  I  helped. 
Good  God,  I  helped!" 

Gaston  dropped  his  head  on  his  folded  arms. 

"  What  happened  when  they  all  knew  ?  When 
you  explained  —  couldn't  they  help  you  ?"  Gaston 
flung  his  head  back  and  looked  at  her. 

"But  they  didn't  find  out.  At  least,  they  found 
out  that  I  took  the  money  —  there  wasn't  anything 
else  to  tell.  That  damnable  fact  was  enough,  wasn't 
it  ?  No  amount  of  whimpering  as  to  why  I'd  done 
it  would  have  helped." 

"  But  your  brother  ? " 

"He  tried  to  get  me  to  go  away.  He  said  \i\  a 
few  days  all  would  be  right.  He  could  then  save 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        221 

everything.  I  could  return  and  repay  —  and  — • 
well!  I  wasn't  made  that  way.  I  stayed." 

"And  — the  girl?" 

"She  asked  me  if  I  had  done  it  —  she  would 
believe  no  one  else.  I  said  yes;  and  that  ended  it. 
Her  father  tried  to  get  me  to  explain  —  he  was  the 
Judge  who  was  to  have  tried  me  —  I  refused  and  he 
begged  to  be  released  from  sentencing  me  —  that's 
all  he  could  do  for  either  of  us." 

"And  —  your  —  mother  ?"  A  sob  rose  in  Joyce's 
throat. 

"I  think,  even  in  her  misery,  she  thanked  God, 
since  it  had  to  be,  that  it  was  not  my  brother." 

The  room  was  growing  cold.     Joyce  shivered. 

"And  then?"  she  faltered. 

"  Oh !  then  — "  Gaston's  face  twitched,  and  his 
voice  was  bitter,  "  then  came  the  star-gazing  through 
the  bars  —  and  all  the  rest,  until  I  came  up  here. 
Only  one  stuck  to  me  through  thick  and  thin." 

"Your  brother  ?"  Joyce  interrupted. 

"My  brother?  No!  Just  a  plain  friend.  I 
told  him  I  did  not  want  to  hear  a  thing  while  I  was 
shut  away.  I  knew  it  would  hold  me  back  from 
getting  what  I  could  out  of  the  experience.  It's 
like  hell  to  have  the  outside  troubles  and  joys  brought 
to  you  while  you  are  bound  hand  and  foot.  I  saw 
enough  of  that  —  it  did  more  to  keep  men  in  the 
mud  than  anything  else.  I  just  kept  that  space  of 
my  life  clear  for  expiation.  When  the  gates  opened 


222        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

for  me  one  day  —  my  friend  was  there  with  all  the 
news  in  a  budget. 

"You  see  the  lash  that  had  cut  deepest  when  I 
went  away  was  something  my  mother  said;  'You've 
broken  the  hearts  of  them  who  loved  and  trusted 
you.' 

"Nothing  had  mattered  so  much  as  those  words  — 
and  out  of  the  disgrace,  the  loneliness,  the  misery 
and  deadly  labour,  I  had  worked  out  a  plan  to  make 
up  to  them  for  the  wrong  I  had  done.  It  was  going 
to  be  about  the  biggest  job  a  fellow  ever  undertook; 
but,  do  you  know,  I  had  hoped  that  I  could  do  it  ? 

"Well,  my  friend's  words  drove  me  back  upon 
myself.  There  was  nothing  for  me  to  do." 

"Why?" 

"The  hearts  were  all  mended — after  a  fashion, 
without  my  aid." 

"Your  mother?" 

"She  had  died  soon  after  I  went  away." 

"And  your  —  brother  —  he  surely  — " 

"Oh!  he  had  gone  booming  ahead  like  a  rocket. 
The  tide  turned  a  bit  too  late  for  me  —  but  it  carried 
him  to  a  safe  harbour.  In  a  generous  and  highly 
moral  way  he  stood  ready  to  repay  me  —  but 
conditions  had  changed;  I  must  accept  certain 
terms." 

"The  — the  — girl?" 

"She'd  married  my  brother.  She  it  was  who 
changed  the  conditions,  you  see.  It  had  been  a 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        223 

noble  sacrifice  for  her  to  marry  into  such  a  family  — 
so,  of  course,  due  consideration  must  be  shown  her. 
Would  I  live  abroad  on  an  ample  allowance?" 

Joyce  flinched  before  the  tone.  Gaston  stood  up 
and  flung  his  arms  out.  "No!  by  God,  I  would  not 
live  abroad.  I  chose  my  own  place  of  hiding.  He 
paid,  though  —  I  saw  to  that  —  he  named  no 
allowance,  it  was  I;  but  he  paid  and  paid  and  paid 
all  that  7  thought  he  should.  He  bought  me  off  at 
my  price  —  not  his.  I  left  all  in  the  hands  of  the 
only  friend  I  had  on  earth  —  I  never  wanted  to  hear 
of  the  others  again  until  I  was  ready  to  go  back  — 
and  I  haven't.  I  wanted  time  to  think  out  my  way. 
I  wanted  strength  to  go  back,  take  my  name  and 
fortune,  ask  nothing  of  the  world  —  but  a  chance  to 
defy  it.  I  got  as  far  as  that  — "  He  dropped  back 
into  the  chair  and  bowed  his  head. 

The  hands  of  the  clock  were  past  midnight,  the 
fire  was  nothing  but  glowing  embers;  a  chill  was 
creeping  through  the  room.  Presently  Gaston  was 
aware  of  a  nearness  —  not  merely  bodily,  but 
spiritually.  He  looked  up.  He  had  forgotten  Joyce 
and  his  thought  of  comfort  in  knowing  that  she 
would  stand  by  him.  To  see  her  close  now,  to  gaze 
up  into  her  glorious  face  was  like  an  awakening 
from  a  hideous  dream  to  a  safe  reality. 

"You  got  as  far  as  that,"  she  said  in  the  saddest, 
softest  tone  that  a  woman's  voice  ever  held,  "and 
then  I  came  into  your  life.  Oh !  how  hard  you  tried 


224        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

to  set  me  aside  with  Jude  —  but  again  and  again  I 
returned  to  —  hold  you  back." 

"Why,  Joyce,  what  is  the  matter?" 

A  paralyzing  fear  drove  anguish  before  it.  Gaston 
strove  to  recall  passion,  but  that,  too,  had  deserted. 
He  and  Joyce  were  standing  in  a  barren  place 
alone  — nothing  behind,  nothing  before! 

"Can't  you  see  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

The  coquetry  had  left  the  girl,  she  stood  fair, 
cold  and  passive  like  some  wonderful  goddess. 

"Don't  you  think  I  see  it  all  now? 

"When  I  came  out  of  that  room  I  was  a  —  bad 
woman!  You  were  mistaken,  I  never  understood 
before  —  about  us ! 

"You  see  when  —  when  I  came  to  you  that  night  — 
after  Jude  — "  she  struggled  with  her  trembling  - 
"I  did  not  know  such  men  as  you  — lived.  I  was 
what  Jude  and  St.  Ange  had  made  me.  I  was 
afraid  of  you  —  but,"  she  bent  over  him  in  divine 
pity  pressing  her  wet  cheek  to  his  bowed  head;  "but 
I  grew  to  know!  You  were  far,  far  above  me,  I 
soon  saw  how  far.  You  never  thought  about  it, 
but  it  made  it  safe  for  you  to  help  me.  I  can  see 
it  all  so  plain  now. 

"  Then  the  evil  that  was  in  me,  the  evil  that  some 
might  have  made  so  vile,  slipped  away.  I  tried 
hard  to  be  what  you  wanted  me  to  be  for  my  own 
sake.  You  did  not  think  of  the  past  and  I  tried 
to  forget  it,  too;  and  so  we  came  along  to  this  night 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        225 

"In  that  room"  —  she  looked  quiveringly  at  the 
closed  door — "  for  a  moment,  I  misunderstood  again. 
I  thought  you  were  trifling  with  me.  I  think 
I  felt  for  the  first  time  that  perhaps  I  was  not  what 
I  had  been — when  I  came  out  of  the  old  life!  I 
wanted  to  make  sure,  and  I  stooped  to  the  meanest 
way/' 

Gaston  drew  her  close.  Vaguely  he  feared  that 
she  was  slipping  farther  and  farther  from  him  for  all 
her  sweetness  and  nearness. 

"Joyce!"  he  cried  wildly,  "l^owarenot  going  to 
desert  me  —  now  r " 

She  dropped  beside  him  and  clasped  her  hands 
over  his  knee.  There  was  no  need  of  reserve, 
she  knew  that  better  than  he. 

"Can  you  not  see  what  sort  of  man  you  are?" 
she  asked  fiercely;  while  the  tears  fell  thick  and  fast. 

"Oh!  I  love  you  many,  many  ways.  I  can  tell 
you  this  now  and  you  must  not  stop  me.  I  love  you 
for  them  who  left  you  alone  to  suffer.  I  love  you 
just  for  myself,  and  I  love  you  as  I  would  have 
loved  my  poor  baby  had  God  let  me  keep  him. 
And  that  is  the  best  way  of  all,  for  it  holds  all  other 
loves. 

"  Oh,  you  must  see !    You  shall  see !     The  men  ou 
in  your  world  —  could  any  of  them  have  done  what 
you  have  done  —  for  me  ?     Even  Mr.  Drew  could 
not  understand.     Even  he  thought  you  must  have 
harmed  me  —  he  felt  sorry  for  me !    And  knowing 


226        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

what  7  know,  do  you,  could  any  of  those  others, 
think  I  would  let  you  harm  — yourself? 

"You  have  made  me  a  stronger  woman  than  even 
you  tried  to  make  me,  and  I  thank  God  for  that  — 
for  you  need  me  so  very,  very  much!" 

The  deep  sobs  choked  her,  and  she  buried  her 
head  against  his  arm.  Out  of  a  desolation  her  words 
were  creating,  Gaston  spoke  desperately. 

"I  do  need  you,  and  by  heaven,  I  mean  to  have 
you!" 

"You're  right.  I  did  not  know  what  you  meant 
to  me;  I  know  now,  and  since  Fate  has  played  us 
false,  we'll  —  we'll  turn  our  backs  on  her." 

"  J°yce>  are  you  willing to  —  trust  me  ?  " 

Almost  roughly  he  raised  her  face  and  forced  her 
to  look  at  him. 

"I  — trust  you!  You  could  never  be  anything 
but  good  and  noble.  I  know  that.  You  never 
have  been  —  but,  there  are  going  to  be  other 
days  and  nights  —  just  plain  days  and  long  black 
nights  —  and  —  I  think  we  have  almost  forgotten  — 
but  there  is  always  --  Jude!" 

Then  like  a  bewildering  flash  the  words  lightened 
the  dark  place  of  Gaston's  character. 

This  woman  whom  —  he  saw  the  fearful  truth  - 
this  woman   whom   he   had   helped   to   form,   had 
outgrown  him  and  left  him  far  behind ! 

Now  that  she  understood;  now  that  her  woman- 
hood could  stand  alone,  she  rose  pure  and  strong 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       227 

above  his  passion  and  the  thing  he  called  love. 
She  only  thought  he  had  forgotten,  when  God  knew 
he  did  not  even  care  for  the  rough  fellow  who  had  all 
but  strangled  the  life  out  of  her. 

"Besides"  -he  heard  her  as  from  a  distance  — 
"besides,  you  must  go  back!" 

"Go  back  —  good  God!  to  what  ?" 

"  To  all  that  you  had  to  go  back  to  —  when  you 
turned  to  help  me!" 

Then    Gaston    bent    and    raised    the    shrinking 

woman  beside  him.     Face  to  face  they  stood  in  the 

cold,  still  room.     "Joyce,"  he  said  thickly,  "what 

I  am  going  to  say  —  you  may  never  be  able  to  forgive 

-  but  I  must  say  it. 

"  It  is  quite  true,  I  gave  no  thought  to  what  I  was 
doing  when  I  shielded  you  from  Jude.  St.  Ange 
did  not  matter;  there  seemed  no  other  way  —  and  I 
never  considered  others  coming  to  complicate  things. 

"I  was  miserable  and  lonely;  but  I  felt  sure  of  my- 
self and  in  helping  you  I  found  an  interest  in  life. 
Lately,  almost  unconsciously,  I've  felt  the  change 
in  you  —  the  new  meaning.  I  wanted  to  make  sure 
and  then  be  guided,  since  others  had  entered 
this  —  this  fool's  paradise  of  mine.  You  are  very 
beautiful  —  the  most  beautiful  woman,  I  think,  that  I 
have  ever  seen  —  and  I  know  now  that  you  are  — 
the  best! 

"  Joyce  —  your  beauty  crazed  me,  and  I  had  not 
forgotten  Jude;  I  did  not  care!" 


228        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Stop!"  The  little  cold  hand  was  pressed  against 
his  lips,  "  you  shall  not !  It  was  I  who  tempted  you  — 
you  would  have  remembered  —  everything.  It  is 
you  who  must  forgive  me  —  I  am  going  —  now!" 

The  slow,  pitiful  words  fell  lingeringly. 

"Going  —  where  can  you  go?"  Gaston  stared 
dumbly  at  her. 

"I  think  Mr.  Drew  will  help  me.  I  am  going 
to  tell  him  everything  —  and  he  will  —  find  a  way." 

"You  shall  not!"  Gaston  drew  her  to  his 
breast.  The  primitive  rose  within  him. 

"There  is  another  way.  The  only  way.  Drew 
shall  not  meddle  in  my  affairs  —  nor  yours.  You 
will  stay  right  here  in  your  home  until  I  return. 
I'm  going  to  Filmer;  he's  the  only  one  we  need,  he'll 
act  for  us  both." 

"But  —  what  then  ?"  Joyce  felt  her  heart  stand 
still. 

"Then?  why  I'm  going  to  find  Jude.  I'm  going 
to  buy  him  off  —  if  necessary.  He  shall  free  you  — 
and  then  —  then!" 

Gaston  held  the  pale  face  off  from  him  and . 
searched  the  wide,  startled  eyes. 

"And  then?"     The  words  fell  into  a  question. 

"But  how" — Joyce  panted;  "how  could  I  feel 
sure  this  great  thing  you  plan  is  not  another  — 
unselfish  act  ?  Suppose,  oh !  suppose  —  she,  that 
—  that  other  girl  —  should  come  back  —  what 
then?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       229 

"  Hear  me,  Joyce.  There  is  never  going  to  be  any 
one  else.  We  are  going  back  together  —  into 
that  other  life.  Why,  the  possibility  almost  blinds 
me. 

"They  shall  see  what  I've  brought  out  of  my  experi- 
ence. We'll  make  a  place  for  ourselves  and  redeem 
the  past.  They  shall  seek  us,  my  darling,  and 
they  shall  see  at  last  that  I  am  master  of  my  life!" 

His  enthusiasm  and  exaltation  carried  Joyce  along 
with  him. 

"Dare  I  trust  —  not  you  —  but  myself?"  she 
whispered.  "After  everything  is  said — I  am  — 
what  I  am!" 

"Yes  — you  are  what  you  are!"  Gaston  pressed 
his  lips  against  her  trembling  mouth.  "And  now, 
good-bye!"  he  released  her,  and  led  her  toward 
her  door.  "  I  must  make  a  few  preparations  — 
then  get  to  Filmer.  It's  all  very  wonderful,  but  it  is 
more  true  than  wonderful.  Until  I  come,  then  — 
and  it  may  take  time,  dear  — you  will  remember?" 

"Always  —  until  you  come  —  and  after!" 

Gaston  bent  again,  but  this  time  he  only  pressed 
his  lips  to  the  soft,  pale  hair. 

When  the  door  closed  behind  her;  he  stood 
for  a  moment  dazed  and  bewildered.  Mechan- 
ically he  turned  to  the  first  task  that  lay  at  hand. 
He  rebuilt  the  dead  fire.  It  seemed  symbolic, 
somehow,  and  he  smiled.  Then  holding  to  the 
fancy  that  touched  him,  he  piled  on  log  after  log. 


23o       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 
There  should  be  no  lack  of  warmth  and  glow  in 
the  new  reincarnation. 

An  hour  later  he  left  the  house,  with  the  needful 
things  for  his  possible,  long  absence  packed  in  a 
grip  and  flung  across  his  shoulder. 
*  He  had  attended  to  so  many  small  comforts  for 
joyce  —  the  fire,  the  writing  out  of  directions, 
where  to  find  money,  etc.  —  that  he  had  been  hurried 
in  the  details  of  his  own  affairs;  he  had  forgotten 
to  take  the  key  from  the  lock  of  the  chest! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JOCK  FILMER    was    coming    to    the    belief 
that  there  was  a    Destiny   shaping  his  ends 
roughly,  smooth-hew   them    as    he    had  ever 
tried  to  do.     Jock  was  pursued,  there  was  no  doubt 
of  that.     For  reasons  of  his  own  he  had  drifted  into 
St.  Ange  when  very  young.     Most  conveniently  and 
soothingly  memory   and   old   habits   dropped   from 
him  —  they  had  clung  tenaciously  to  Gaston.     Jock 
adapted  himself  to  circumstances  and  new  environ- 
ment with  flattering  promptness. 

The  Black  Cat  felt  no  resentment  toward  him 
after  the  first  few  months.  His  English  became 
blurred  with  regard  to  grammar;  the  local  speech 
was  good  enough  for  him.  When  Jock's  Past 
became  troublesome,  as  it  had  done  from  the  very 
first,  the  Black  Cat  had  consolation  for  its  latest 
recruit;  and,  while  he  did  not  sink  quite  so  far 
as  some  of  the  natives,  the  shortcoming  was 
attributed  more  to  youth  than  to  the  putting  on  of 
airifications,  as  Tate  said. 

In  a  boyish,  off-hand  way,  Filmer  had  always 
regarded  Gaston  as  a  sign-board  in  an  unexplored 
country.  If  things  ever  pressed  too  close,  Filmer 
believed  Gaston  would  point  him  to  safety. 


232        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

A  mystic  something  held  them  together.  A 
common  interest,  consciously  cast  into  oblivion, 
but  perfectly  tangible  and  not  to  be  denied,  was  the 
unspoken  passport  in  their  intercourse. 

Later,  during  the  building  of  Drew's  bungalow 
and  their  joint  sympathy  for,  and  with,  Joyce, 
Filmer  had  acknowledged  Gaston,  as  a  superior 
and,  spiritually,  regarded  him  as  a  leader  in  an 
interesting  adventure. 

Gaston,  the  night  when  he  faced  Jude  and 
him  with  the  pointed  question,  "What  you  going 
to  do  about  it  ?"  had  fallen  from  Jock's  high  opinion, 
and  the  crash  had  affected  him  to  a  painful  extent. 

"Oh!  what's  the  good  ?"  he  had  finally  concluded. 

Another  friendship  that  had  been  formed  in  the 
lonely  woods  yet  remained  to  him,  and  he  made  the 
most  of  that.  Drew's  personality  had  stirred 
Jock's  emotions  from  the  start.  To  look  forward 
to  a  renewal  of  the  companionship  was  a  distinct 
pleasure  in  the  time  when  the  dust  of  Gaston's 
fallen  image  was  blinding  his  eyes  and  smarting  his 
heart. 

Drew  came,  sick  but  unconquered.  All  the 
chivalry  in  Filmer  rose  to  the  call.  He  gave  his 
time  to  the  young  minister.  Using  up  the  little 
money  he  had  earned  as  builder,  resigning  his 
chance  to  go  into  camp,  he  devoted  himself  to  Drew 
day  and  night.  He  became  one  of  the  family  at 
the  bungalow  and  a  jocose  familiarity  was  as  much 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   233 

a  part  of  Jock's  liking  for  a  person,  as  were  his  tire- 
less patience  and  capacity  for  single-minded  service. 

Drew's  maiden  aunt,  prim,  proper  and  worldly- 
wise,  was  as  much  Aunt  Sally  to  Filmer  as  she  was 
to  her  niece  and  nephew.  Jock  jollied  the  aristo- 
cratic lady  as  freely  as  he  did  Drew,  toward  whom 
he  held  the  tolerant  admiration  that  he  had  given 
him  from  the  beginning.  But  poor  Jock  was  not 
to  have  his  own  easy  planning  of  the  new  situation 
in  all  directions.  Constance  Drew  took  a  hand  in 
the  game,  and  Jock,  with  trailing  plume,  plodded 
on  behind  her. 

If  he  could  gibe  and  tease,  she  could  bring  him 
about  with  her  cool  audacity  and  comical  dignity. 

The  girl's  splendid  physique,  her  athletic  ten- 
dencies, her  endurance  and  pluck,  compelled  Jock's 
masculine  admiration.  Her  love  for  her  brother, 
her  tenderness  and  cheerfulness  toward  him,  won 
his  heart;  but  Her  mental  make-up,  her  strange 
seriousness  where  her  own  private  interests  were 
concerned,  caused  the  young  fellow  no  end  of 
amusement  and  delight.  He  had  never  seen  any 
one  in  the  least  like  her,  and  the  new  sensation  held 
him  captive. 

Poor  Jock!  He  was  never  again  to  walk  through 
life  without  a  chain  and  ball;  but  little  he  heeded 
that  while  he  had  strength  and  spirit  to  drag  them. 

With  Drew's  partial  recovery  the  bungalow 
household  lost  its  head  a  little.  Aunt  Sally's 


234       JOYCE   01-    THE  NORTH  WOODS 

gratitude  overflowed  into  every  house  in  St.  Ange. 
She  felt  as  if  the  natives,  not  the  pine-laded  air, 
had  been  instrumental  in  this  regained  health  and 
joyousness. 

"I  can  never  thank  you  enough,"  was  her  constant 
greeting;  and  so  sincere  was  her  gratitude  that  event- 
ually the  back  doors  of  the  squalid  houses  opened 
to  her  unconsciously  —  and  of  true  friendship  there 
is  no  greater  proof  in  a  primitive  village.  Sitting 
in  their  kitchens,  it  was  easy  for  her  to  reach  down 
into  their  hearts,  and  many  a  St.  Ange  woman  poured 
her  troubles  into  Aunt  Sally's  ears,  and  went 
forever  after  with  uplifted  head. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady  said  to  Ralph, 
after  Peggy  Falstar  had  taken  her  into  her  confidence, 
"these  people  are  much  like  others,  only  they 
have  the  rough  bark  on.  They  are  a  great  deal 
nore  vital  —  the  bark  has,  somehow,  kept  the  sap 
richer/' 

Drew  laughed  heartily. 

"The  polishing  takes  something  away,  Auntie," 
he  replied.  "The  bark  is  hard  to  get  through; 
it's  tough  and  prickly  and  not  always  lovely,  but 
it's  the  sap  that  counts  in  every  case,  and  that's 
what  I  used  to  tell  you  and  Connie.  Every  time  I 
tapped  these  people  up  here,  I  saw  and  felt  the 
rich  possibilities." 

"Now,  you  go  straight  to  sleep,"  his  aunt  always 
commanded  at  that  juncture. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        235 

She  was  not  yet  able  to  face  the  probability  of 
a  final  settlement  in  these  backwoods,  but  she  saw 
with  alarm  that  her  nephew  was  planting  his  hopes 
deep  and  accepting  the  inevitable. 

"It's  all  such  a  horrible  sacrifice  of  his  young 
life,"  she  confided  to  Constance. 

"His  young  life!"  the  girl  had  returned  with  a 
straight,  clear  look.  "Why,  I  begin  to  think  the 
only  life  he  has,  Auntie,  is  what  St.  Ange  offers  — he 
must  take  that  or  nothing.  Oh!  if  only  that  little 
beast  down  there  in  New  York  had  had  the  courage 
of  a  mouse,  and  the  imagination  of  a  mole,  she  might 
have  made  Ralph's  life  —  this  life  —  a  thing  to  go 
thundering  down  into  history!  It's  splendid  up 
here!  It's  the  sort  of  thing  that  makes  your  soul 
feel  like  something  tangible.  My!"  And  with 
that,  on  a  certain  mid-winter  day,  the  young  woman 
strode  forth. 

A  long  fur-lined  coat  protected  her  from  the 
deceiving  cold.  The  dryness  of  the  air  was  mis- 
leading to  a  coast-bred  girl.  A  dark  red  hood 
covered  the  ruddy,  curly  hair,  and  skin  gloves  gave 
warm  shelter  to  the  slim,  white  hands. 

Down  the  snow-covered  road  Constance  walked. 
She  was  tingling  with  the  joy  of  her  life  —  her  life 
and  the  dear,  new  life  given  to  her  brother. 

The  pines  pointed  darkly  to  a  sky  so  faultlessly 
blue  that  it  seemed  a  June  heirloom  to  a  white  winter. 

The  snow  was  crisp  and  smooth ;  a  durable  snow 


236        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

that  must  last  until  spring.  It  knew  its  business  and 
what  was  expected  of  it,  so  it  was  not  to  be  impressed 
by  mere  footsteps,  or  the  touch  of  prowling  beast. 

Constance  slid  and  tripped  along.  She  sang 
snatches  of  old,  remembered  songs,  and  talked  aloud 
for  very  fulness  of  heart  and  the  sense  of  her  Mission 
rising  strong  within  her. 

Since  coming  to  St.  Ange  she  had  not,  until  now, 
had  time  to  think  of  her  Mission  — her  last  Mission; 
—  for  Constance  Drew  was  a  connoisseur  in 
Missions.  But  now  she  must  waste  no  more 
time. 

She  patted  her  long  pocket  on  the  right-hand 
side  —  yes,  the  book  and  an  assorted  lot  of  pencils 
were  there.  She  preferred  pencils  to  fountain  pens. 
The  points  were  nicer  to  bite  on,  and  she  wasn't 
sure,  in  this  climate,  but  that  ink  might  freeze  just 
when  a  soul-flight  was  about  to  land  genius  on  a 
mountain-top. 

There  was  a  beautiful  log  halfway  between  the 
bungalow  and  Gaston's  shack.  It  was  a  sheltered 
log,  with  a  delectable  hump  on  it  where  one  could 
rest  the  base  of  one's  spinal  column  when  victory, 
in  the  form  of  inspiration,  was  about  to  perch. 

Constance  sought  this  log  when  long,  ambitious 
thoughts  possessed  her.  The  snow  had  been 
removed,  and  a  cushion  of  moss,  also  bare  of  snow, 
made  a  resting  place  for  two  small  feet,  warmly 
incased  in  woollen-lined  "arctics.'* 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   237 

Constance  sat  down  and  drew  the  red-covered 
book  from  her  pocket,  and  placed  the  seven  sharply- 
pointed  pencils,  side  by  side  and  near  at  hand. 

A  sound  startled  the  girl.  Her  brow  puckered. 
Even  in  the  deep  woods  inspiration  was  not  safe 
from  intrusion. 

Well,  since  some  bothering  person  must  take  this 
time  for  appearing,  Constance  hoped  it  would  be 
Joyce,  for  she  wanted  to  see  her  and  talk  with  her. 
Joyce  did  not  invite  intimacy.  Up  there  alone  in 
her  shack,  waiting  for  Gaston's  return,  she  was 
grappling  with  matters  too  sacred  and  agonizing 
to  permit  of  curious  interruption.  That  Drew's 
family  should  overlook  any  little  social  shortcoming 
in  her  and  seek  to  meet  her  on  an  equal  footing, 
did  not  interest  her  in  the  least  —  she  wanted  to  be 
alone,  and  for  the  most  part  she  was. 

But  it  was  not  Joyce  who  appeared  on  the  road. 
It  was  Jock  Filmer  and  he  came,  without  invitation, 
to  the  log  and  put  his  foot  on  the  end  nearest  the 
girl. 

"Pleasant  summer  weather,  hey?" 

Constance  raised  her  eyes  from  the  little  book  in 
which  she  had  been  writing,  and  gave  Jock  the  benefit 
of  her  honest  inspection. 

"If  you  had  ever  lived  where  winter  was  meted 
out  to  you  in  the  form  of  frozen  moisture/'  she  said, 
"you'd  know  how  to  appreciate  this  nice,  clean, 
undisguised  cold." 


238       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"I  know  the  other  kind."  Jock  nodded  reminis- 
cently.  "It  is  like  being  slapped  in  the  face 
with  a  sheet  wet  with  ice  water,  isn't  it  ? " 

"Ha!  ha!  so  you  haven't  always  lived  here?  I 
thought  as  much.  Indeed  I  have  a  note  to  that 
effect  —  here."  The  girl  tapped  the  red-covered 
book. 

"No;  I've  travelled  some,"  Jock  confessed,  "I've 
been  to  Hillcrest  several  times." 

"I  believe  you  are  masquerading."  Constance 
viewed  him  keenly.  "  I've  written  to  my  married 
sister  about  you  all  up  here;  I  call  you  and  that 
—  that  Mr.  Gaston,  the  Masqueraders." 

"So!"  Jock  smoothed  his  chin  with  his  heavily 
gloved  hand.  "That  sister  of  yours,  doubtlessly, 
could  spot  us  all  on  sight  just  by  your  description. 
It  ain't  safe.  How's  your  aunt  and  the  Reverend 
Kid?"  Jock  grinned  amiably.  The  past  weeks 
had  given  him  time  and  opportunity  for  broadening 
his  views  of  life  and  enjoyment. 

"Ralph  is  fine";  the  clear,  gray  eyes  shone  with 
the  joy  of  the  fact;  "and  Auntie  is  having  the  time 
of  her  life.  You  know  she  never  had  her  lighter 
vein  developed.  Our  city  connection  is  awfully 
proper  and  cultivated.  I  always  knew  auntie  was 
a  Bohemian,  and  up  here  —  she's  plunging!" 

"Umph!    And  you?" 

"  Oh !     I'm  getting  —  material." 

"Excuse  me."     Jock  passed   his  hand  over  his 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   239 

mouth.  "There  are  times  when  I  think  you're 
a  comicaller  little  cuss  than  your  brother!" 

"Mr.  Filmer!" 

"Oh,  come  down!  Mr.  Filmer  don't  go  in  the 
woods  in  the  middle  of  winter.  What  do  you  want 
for  your  Christmas  ?" 

"  When  you  make  fun  of  me "  —  the  girl  was 
trying  hard  not  to  laugh  —  "you  anger  me  beyond 
—  expression." 

A  guffaw  greeted  this.     Then: 

"What  was  you  making  in  your  little  book  when 
I  came  up  ? " 

"Character  sketches." 

"Sho!     Let's  have  a  look.     I  like  pictures." 

"They're  pen-pictures." 

"  All  the  same  to  me.     Pencil,  pen,  or  paint-brush." 

"  But  you  do  not  understand.  They  are  word 
pictures.  Descriptions,  you  know." 

"  Well,  now  you  have  got  me !     Show  up,  anyhow." 

Constance  opened  the  little  book,  and  spread  it 
out  on  her  knee. 

"I  am  getting  material  for  a  novel,"  she  said 
impressively.  "The  great  American  novel  has  yet 
to  be  written.  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  me 
conceited,  Jock,  but  I  have  had  exceptional  advan- 
tages —  I  may  be  the  chosen  one  to  write  this  — 
this  great  novel." 

"  Who  knows  ? "  Jock's  serious  gaze  was  a  perfect 
disguise  for  his  true  inward  state. 


240        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Yes;  who  knows?  You  see  I  can  speak  freely 
to  you." 

"Sure  thing,*'  assented  Jock.  "Dumb  animals 
can't  blab,  and  once  you  turn  your  back  on  St. 
Ange  I'll  be  a  dumb  beast  all  right!" 

"My  back  will  never  be  turned  permanently  on 
St.  Ange,  I  think!"  the  girl  spoke  slowly.  "I  agree 
with  Ralph  that  for  the  future  his  home  will  probably 
be  here;  and  where  Ralph  is 

"The  lamb  will  surely  come.  Go  on,  child,  and 
hang  up  your  pictures."  They  both  laughed  now. 

"  First,"  Constance  folded  her  hands  over  the  open 
pages  of  her  book,  "  I  wonder,  Jock,  if  you  would 
like  to  hear  —  something  of  my  life  ?  It  would 
explain  this  —  this  —  great  ambition  of  mine." 

"Well,"  Jock  drawled,  "if  you  don't  think  me 
too  young  and  innocent  for  such  excitement,  fire 
away.  Histories  have  always  had  a  hold  on  me. 
Most  of  'em  ain't  true,  but  they  tickle  your  imagina- 
tion." 

"Jock!  But  I'm  in  earnest.  I  have  felt  that  I 
must  have  a  confidant.  Some  one  who  will  —  sym- 
pathize. I'm  going  to  have  a  woman  friend  in  a 
day  or  so  —  but  a  man  —  one  who  is  disinterested, 
so  to  speak,  is  always  such  a  comfort  to  a  girl  when 
she  faces  a  great  epoch  in  her  life." 

Jock  swallowed  his  rising  mirth  and  his  face  be- 
came a  blank  so  far  as  expression  was  concerned. 

"I  have  had  wonderful  advantages,"  Constance 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       241 

f     w 

began,  "  that  is  what  makes  me  dare  to  hope.  Advan- 
tages of  wealth,  society  and  —  and  a  deep  insight 
into  people's  innermost  souls." 

"Gosh!"  Jock  exploded;  "excuse  me;  I  always 
burst  out  that  way  when  I'm  —  moved."  He  sat 
down  on  the  end  of  the  log,  and  clutched  his  knees 
in  his  strong  arms.  "  Somehow  you  don't  look  like 
such  a  desperate  character,"  he  added  blandly, 
"known  sin  and  conquered  it,  and  all  the  rest?" 

Constance  sniffed,  but  a  little  jocularity  was  not 
going  to  deter  her  from  the  luxury  of  confession. 

"Money  should  only  be  regarded,"  she  went  on, 
"as  a  sacred  trust,  and  a  means  of  enriching  one's 
life.  And  as  for  Society  —  that  is  a  bore!  Dances, 
theatres,  dinners  and  luncheons.  Chaperons  tag- 
ging around  after  you,  suggesting  by  their  mere 
presence  that,  unless  you're  watched,  you'll  do 
something  desperate  in  the  wild  desire  to  break  the 
monotony.  Well,  I  drank  deep  of  that  life,"  Con- 
stance looked  dreamily  over  the  stretch  of  meadow 
and  pine-edged  woods,  all  dazzling  with  a  shimmer 
of  icy  snow,  "  before  I  took  to 

"Crime?"  Jock  suggested.  "It  would  seem 
that  that  was  the  natural  sequence  to  such  a  career." 

"  Jock  Filmer  —  I  took  to  philanthropy." 

"As  bad  as  that  ?"  Jock  roared  with  laughter. 

"  I  only  tell  you  this  to  explain  my  present  position." 
Constance  drew  her  fur-clad  shoulders  up.  "I 
became  a  Settlement  worker;  but»"  confidently, 


242        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"that  was  worse  than  Society.  It  was  Society  with 
another  setting.  'Thanks  be!'  as  Auntie  says,  I 
have  a  sense  of  humour  and  a  remnant  of  Scotch 
canniness.  It  made  me  laugh  —  when  it  didn't 
make  me  ashamed  —  to  put  on  a  sort  of  livery  - 
plain  frock,  you  know,  and  go  down  to  the  Settle- 
ment in  the  most  businesslike  way  to  'do*  for  those 
poor  people.  It  cost  an  awful  lot  to  run  our  Settle- 
ment, about  two-thirds  of  all  the  money.  One-third 
went  to  the  poor.  We  had  plenty  of  fun  down  there. 
All  slummy  outside  and  lovely  things  inside,  you 
know.  It  was  like  making  believe.  You  see," 
she  paused  impressively,  "when  you  have  a  Mission 
like  Settlement  work,  you  don't  have  to  have  a 
chaperon." 

"Ten  to  one,  they're  needed,  though."  Jock  was 
keenly  interested.  "Cutting  loose  from  familiar 
ties  and  acting  up  sort  of  detached  that  way,  must 
have  a  queer  effect  upon  some." 

"Well,  I  just  got  enough  of  it.  Why,  one  Christ- 
mas, we  at  the  Settlement  House  had  a  tree  and 
gifts  that  cost  hundreds  of  dollars.  We  had  a  big 
dance.  Evening  dress  and  all  the  rest.  Young  men 
and  women  who,  had  they  been  in  their  own  homes, 
would  have  been  under  some  one's  watchful  eye,  were 
having  a  jolly,  good  fling  down  there  that  Christmas 
Eve,  I  can  tell  you. 

"  Right  in  the  middle  of  the  evening,  a  call  came 
from  a  family  in  a  tenement  around  the  corner.  I 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       243 

knew  all  about  them  —  or  I  thought  I  did  —  so 
I  went.  I  just  flung  a  cloak  about  me  and  ran  off 
alone.  Somehow  I  did  not  want  any  one  with  me." 

Constance's  eyes  grew  dim,  and  her  under  lip 
quivered. 

"It  was  awful."  Her  voice  sank  low.  "You  see, 
with  all  the  preparations  going  on  at  the  Settle- 
ment House,  we  had  sort  of  forgotten  this  —  this 
family.  They  were  not  the  noisy,  begging  kind, 
but  there  was  a  pitiful,  little  sick  girl  whom  I  had 
taken  a  liking  to  and  to  think  that  I  should  have 
forgotten  her  —  and  at  that  time,  too!  There  was 
no  tree  in  that  home,  Jock,  there  was  nothing 
much,  but  the  little  dying  girl  and  her  mother. 

"  They  didn't  even  blame  me  —  oh,  if  they  only 
had!"  The  honest  tears  ran  down  Constance's 
cheeks.  "  But  they  didn't.  The  mother  said  — 
and  she  apologized  for  troubling  me,  think  of  that!  — 
that  the  baby  wanted  me  to  tell  her  a  Christmas 
story.  She  just  wouldn't  go  to  sleep  until  I  did, 
and  she  had  been  ailing  all  day.  I  —  I  forgot  my 
dress,  and  tore  off  my  cloak  in  that  cold,  empty 
room  and  I  took  that  poor  baby  in  my  arms.  Then 
—  then  the  hardest  part  came  —  she  —  she  didn't 
know  me.  She  got  the  queerest  little  notion  in  her 
baby  head  —  she  —  she  thought  I  was  an  —  angel. 
Oh!  oh!  and  I  wanted  her  to  know  me." 

Down  went  the  girlish  head  in  the  open  pages 
of  the  character  sketches. 


244        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Well  of  all  gol-durned  nonsense!"  Jock  blurted 
out.  "The  whole  blamed  show  oughter  been 
exposed.  I  reckon  the  best  job  the  company  ever 
had  to  its  credit  was  that  happening  of  yours  —  the 
dress  and  the  —  the  —  rest  of  the  picter.  Lord ! " 
Jock's  feelings  were  running  over  as  he  looked  upon 
the  bowed  head.  The  story  had  got  hold  of  his 
tender  heart.  "  Lord  above !  Just  think  of  that  sort 
of  rum  suffering  going  on  back  there.  It's  worse 
than  what  happens  here.  We've  got  wood  to  keep 
the  kids  warm  in  winter,  and  there's  clean  air  and 
coolness  in  summer.  I'm  durned  glad  I  cut  it 
when"  —  he  stopped  short.  Constance  was  looking 
at  him  with  wide,  questioning  eyes. 

"When  I  did,"  Jock  added  helplessly.  "And  now 
go  on  with  that  poor  little  child  what  you  took  to 
your  bosom." 

"That's  all."  Constance  choked  painfully.  "The 
baby  —  died  while  I  was  telling  her  about  the  won- 
derful tree,  and  Santa  Claus  and  the  other  joys  she 
should  have  had,  and  never  did  have.  I  can  see 
that  hideous  empty  room,  and  —  and  that  poor 
baby  every  time  I  shut  my  eyes." 

"Here,  look  up  now,"  Jock  commanded,  his 
feelings  getting  the  best  of  him.  "When  life's 
so  empty  that  you  can't  find  things  to  do  by  opening 
your  eyes,  you  better  keep  your  eyes  shut  to  all  eter- 
nity. Calling  up  the  past  is  the  rottenest  kind  of 
folly  in  a  world  where  things  is  happening." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       245 

Constance  rallied  to  the  stern  call. 

"And  now,"  she  said  briskly,  "I've  given  myself, 
heart  and  soul  to  —  literature.  I'll  write  of  what 
I  have  seen,  and  lived! 

"Listen,  I'll  read  you  a  sketch  or  so.  But  first 
I'll  explain.  The  local  colour  of  my  novel  is  drawn 
from  —  here." 

Jock  pulled  himself  together. 

"Well,  I'll  be  blowed!"  he  sympathetically  ejacu- 
lated, "  Here  where  there  ain't,  what  you  might  say, 
enough  local  color  to  more  than  touch  up  the  noses 
of  the  Black  Catters." 

"Jock!  Now,  see  if  you'd  know  it."  She  read 
a  scrappy  description  of  the  village.  "Would  you 
recognize  it  ? " 

"With  a  footnote,  it  would  go."  Jock  was  all 
attention.  "  But  I  have  my  doubts  as  to  whether 
Pete  Falstar  will  take  kindly  to  his  place  of  residence 
being  classified  as  a  human  pig-sty.  That's  laying 
the  local  colour  on,  with  a  whitewash  brush,  don't 
you  think  ?.  A  little  dirt  and  disorder  don't  seem 
to  call  for  such  language." 

"That  is  artistic  license."     Constance  explained. 

"Well,  you  ought  to  pay  high  for  that  kind  of 
license  —  but  maybe  you  do.  Go  on." 

"I  handle  my  subject  without  gloves,"  Constance 
began  again. 

"By  gosh!  I'd  keep  'em  on  when  I  was  tackling 
pig-stys  and  such;  but  don't  mind  me." 


246       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"And  here;  see  if  you  can  guess  who  this  is  ? 

"  *  The  sleek,  fat  proprietor  looked  oily  within  and 
oily  without.  He  oozed  oil  on  the  community  that 
he  was  demoralizing  with  his  poisonous  whiskey  and 
doctored  beer." 

"God  bless  and  save  us!"  Jock  rolled  from  side 
to  side.  "If  you  don't  beat  all  for  gol-durned  sass. 
Why,  Tate  will  sue  you  for  damages  if  that  great 
American  novel  ever  strikes  his  vision.  Oil! 
Thunderation;  and  poisonous  whiskey,  and  doctored 
beer.  Was  it  Society  or  Settlement  what  let  light 
in  on  you,  about  such  terms  ? " 

"Neither.     It's — inspiration." 

"It's  just  plain  imperdence,  and  it'll  get  you  in 
trouble.  Are  you  going  to  use  names  in  that  novel 
of  yours  ?" 

"Certainly  not.  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know 
my  art  ?  But  you  recognize  Tate  ?  Then  he  lives!" 

"Good  Lord!  Know  him?  How  under  the 
everlasting  ftimament  could  I  help  knowing  him  ? 
What  other  proprietor  is  there  in  St.  Ange,  you 
comical  little  bag  of  words  ?  specially  one  as 
demoralizes  the  community  with  poisoned  whiskey 
and  doctored  beer?  Balls  of  fire!  but  this  beats 
the  band.  Go  on;  go  on." 

When  a  man  of  thirty  steps  out  of  a  starved  exile 
and  comes  in  contact  with  a  girl  like  Constance 
Drew,  it  may  be  dangerous  to  "go  on,"  but  the  exile 
will  certainly  want  to. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       247 

Nothing  loath;  all  sparkling  and  radiant,  Con- 
stance swept  along. 

"And  I've  got — you,  but  maybe  you  will  never 
forgive  me.  I  took  you  at  your  —  your  worst  — 
for  don't  you  see  when  I  use  you  —  later  —  I'm 
going  to  redeem  you  and  have  you  come  out 
truly  splendid." 

Jock's  jaw  dropped,  and  the  laugh  fled  from  his 
overflowing  eyes. 

"Me?"  he  gasped.  Constance  nodded,  and 
waved  a  pointed  pencil  toward  him. 

"  Wait !"  she  ran  her  eye  down  the  page.  '  Beauti- 
ful woman — with  a  —  Past' -  — that's  the  girl  up 
in  the  other  Masquerader's  shack,  that  girl  Joyce, 
you  know,  and  Gaston  —  and  here's  Peggy  Falstar 

—  'woman  sunk  to  man's  level  and  reproducing  her 
kind'  — brief  note  of  Billy  Falstar  as  'impish  child' 

—  oh !  here  you  are ! 

"'Village  Bacchus.  Tall,  handsome,  but  lost, 
apparently,  to  shame.  Swaggering  criss-cross  down 
the  road,  laughing  senselessly  and  shouting  songs. 
Slave  to  appetite.  Controlled  by  his  brutal  passions. 
When  spoken  to  in  this  state,  assumes  manner  of 
gentleman.  Subconscious  self  —  study  in  heredity. 

—  Let  a  strong  influence  enter  his  life  —  handsome 
noble  girl  —  redempticn   at   end  —  splendid    char- 


acter." 


"Good  God!" 

Constance  dropped  the  book.     The  eyes  that  met 


248        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

her  own  had  a  look  in  them  that  drove  the  cold, 
which  she  had  not  felt  before,  to  her  very  heart. 

"What  —  what  —  is  the  matter?"  she  gasped. 

"Did  you  —  ever  see  me  —  like  that  ?"  The  words 
came  hoarsely. 

"Yes.  One  day  a  few  weeks  ago.  Ralph  wanted 
you.  I  went  to  find  you  —  and"  -  the  girl's  eyes 
dropped.  She  felt  a  sudden  humiliation  as  if  he 
had  detected  her  reading  his  private  letters. 

"And  I  talked  —  rot  and  all  the  rest  ?" 

"Yes.  I  never  told  Ralph;  I  knew  it  would  hurt 
him  —  I  had  —  no  right  to  tell  you  this  —  it  is  only 
-  copy  for  me  " 

"Copy?" 

"Yes;  stuff  to  work  into  the  —  novel." 

"The  novel  ?  Ah,  I  remember.  I'm  going  to  be 
stuffed  in  with  Tate  and  —  and  the  others  ?" 

"Yes;  but  don't  you  recall,  you  are  to  be  redeemed 
—  you  are  to  be  my  —  my  hero  —  in  the  end  you 
are  to  be  —  splendid." 

A  deep  groan  was  the  only  reply  to  this;  the  groan 
and  the  look  of  growing  misery  on  the  man's 
face. 

"You're  to  go  back — you  see  I  feel  you  once 
belonged  somewhere  else  —  and  take  up  your  life- 
work  with  — 

"With  ?"  Jock  repeated  the  word  hopelessly. 

"With  her  — the  girl." 

"What  girl?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       249 

"Why  the  girl  I'm  going  to  create.  First  I 
thought  I'd  have  her --Joyce;  but  that  doesn't 
stand  clear  in  my  thought  —  I  cannot  quite  see  just 
the  sort  of  girl  —  that  could  rouse  you  to  —  to 
great  things." 

Filmer  was  staring  at  the  speaker  with  dazed  and 
pitiful  eyes.  Then  Constance  beheld  a  miracle. 
The  stony  misery  melted  as  an  infinite  sadness  and 
pity  overflowed. 

Jock  stood  up,  plunged  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  looked  down  at  the  dissecter  who  had  bared 
every  sensitive  nerve  in  his  heart  and  soul. 

"  When  —  you  write  that  book,"  the  words  drawled 
out  the  bitter  thought,  "just  omit  —  me  —  please  — 
if  you  have  any  mercy." 

"Jock!"  Constance  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Jock  — 
how  could  I  know  that  you  would  care  ?" 

"You  —  couldn't,  of  course." 

m*- 

"Is  it  because  I   saw  you  so?" 

"No." 

"You  know  of  course  —  that  I'd  never  speak  of 
that  to  any  one  —  I  only  used  it  for  my  book." 

"If  that  will  help  your  book  — take  it;  but  leave 
out " 

"What?" 

"The  girl  —  the  redemption  —  and " 

"Why?" 

"Can't  you  —  guess  ?" 

"No."     But  as  the  word  passed  her  lips,  she  did 


250        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

guess  —  and  what  she  surmised  sent  the  blood 
rushing  through  her  body. 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Miss  Drew,"  Filmer  was 
getting  command  of  himself;  "there  isn't  going  to  be 
any  redemption;  nor  any  girl — that's  all;  don't 
you  see  ?  There  never  is  in  such  cases,  and  you 
want  to  be  true  to  life  in  that  first,  great  American 
novel.  You  got  your  brush  in  the  wrong  pot  of 
local  colour  when  you  daubed  me.  No  offence 
intended,  or  taken,  I  hope.  God  bless  you!  strike 
your  pencil  through  all  that  came  after  the  spree 
part.  You're  welcome  to  that,  but  I  decline  to  let 
you  lain  your  reputation  by  offering  up  the  rest  to 
the  public." 

He  was  laughing  again,  and  the  agony  had  passed 
from  his  careless  face. 

"And  now  ?"  he  asked,  "which  way  ?" 

"I'm  going  —  home." 

"Well,  well,  come  along.  I'm  bound  for  the 
Reverend  Kid  myself.  I've  got  his  mail  in  my 
pockets  —  and  yours,  too  by  thunder!  You're  too 
diverting,  Miss  Drew,  you  took  my  thoughts  off 
business.  Come  on." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JOYCE,  waiting  in  the  solitude  of  the  shack 
under  the  pines,  heard  and  saw  little  of 
what  was  going  on  in  St.  Ange.  She  was 
living  at  high  pressure,  and  she  had  not  even  the 
relief  of  companionship  to  divert  her  from  her 
lonely  vigils. 

Naturally  the  exhilaration  of  the  night  that 
Gaston  left  her,  passed  and  the  dull  monotony  of 
the  daily  tasks  performed  perfunctorily  with  no 
charm  of  another's  approbation  and  sharing,  lost 
the  power  of  holding  her  thoughts. 

She  ate,  and  made  tidy  the  little  house  in  quite  the 
old  way,  but  the  large  dreaming  eyes  looked  beyond 
the  narrow  confines,  and  grew  pathetic  as  they 
searched  the  white  fields  and  hidden  trails  off  toward 
the  Northern  and  Southern  Solitudes. 

Which  way  had  he  gone  ?  From  which  direction 
would  he  return  ?  Everything  was  ready  for  him 
—  it  always  had  been  since  the  night  he  left  —  and 
she,  herself,  once  the  daily  routine  was  over,  donned 
her  prettiest  garments,  not  the  golden  gown! 
and  waited  either  by  the  glowing  fire  or  by  the 
lit  fle  windows. 

Early  in  the  day  following  Gaston's  departure, 


252        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

she  had  discovered  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  chest! 
The  sight  for  a  moment,  made  her  tremble. 

Had  he  left  it  by  mistake  ?  Had  he  left  it  design- 
edly, now  that  he  had  taken  her  completely  into  his 
confidence  ? 

But  had  he  ?  Joyce  flushed  and  paled  at  the 
thought.  After  all,  what  had  he  really  told  her  ? 
She  did  not  know,  even,  his  true  name  nor  the  place 
from  which  he  had  come. 

No;  she  knew  very  little.  Shaken  from  his  indif- 
ference by  her  beauty  and  charm  into  a  realizing 
sense  of  the  woman  he  had  helped  to  form,  Gaston 
had  indeed  broken  his  silence  and  voiced  the  one 
great  tragedy  of  his  life  to  her  —  and  she  had 
superbly  stood  the  test;  but  that  was  all! 

In  the  chest  lay,  perhaps  the  rest!  His  name; 
the  name  of  those  who  had  taken  part  in  all  that  had 
gone  before  the  terrible  time  of  his  trouble.  For 
a  moment  a  paralyzing  temptation  came  to  Joyce  to 
solve  for  herself,  by  the  means  at  hand,  the  mystery 
which  still  surrounded  the  man  she  loved  with  a 
completeness  and  abandon  that  controlled  every 
thought  and  act  of  her  life.  But  it  was  only  a 
momentary  weakness.  Her  love  shielded  her  from 
any  shortcoming  that  could  possibly  lower  her. 

Bravely  she  walked  up  to  the  chest,  and  proved 
herself  by  trying  the  lid  to  see  if  the  chest  were 
unlocked.  It  was.  Gaston  had  not  even  taken 
that  precaution. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   253 

Joyce  smiled  —  all  was  now  safe  with  her.  She 
would  never  feel  tempted  again.  It  became  a 
comfort  to  sit  near  the  chest.  She  deserted  the 
living  room  and  made  a  huge  fire  upon  Gaston's 
hearth.  Evenings  she  took  her  book  or  sewing 
there,  and  the  chest  with  its  secrets  seemed  like  a 
friend  who,  from  very  nearness  of  comradeship, 
had  no  need  to  speak  its  hidden  thoughts. 

In  the  desolation  of  the  midwinter  loneliness, 
the  pale  woman  grew  to  feel,  when  in  Gaston's 
room,  a  high  courage  and  strength.  Everything 
would  come  out  right.  Details  were  not  to  be 
considered.  Gaston  had  always  been  all-powerful; 
he  would  conquer  now.  What  did  the  waiting 
count  ?  He,  meanwhile,  was  tracing  Jude.  Soon 
he  would  return,  having  freed  her  from  every  evil 
thing  of  the  past.  He  would  find  her  as  he  had 
left  her  —  a  woman  fitted  by  a  great  love  to  follow 
whither  he  led. 

And  then  —  as  the  long  evenings  pressed  silently 
cold  and  dark  around  the  shack,  her  fancy  ran  riot. 
All  that  she  had  yearned  for;  all,  all  that  the  books 
had  suggested,  she  was  to  see.  Mountain  peaks 
and  roaring  ocean;  strange  people  like,  yet  so  unlike, 
Gaston.  To  think  that  all  this  was  going  to  happen 
to  her  —  old  Jared's  little  Joyce. 

A  few  days  after  Gaston's  departure  Jock  Filmer 
walked  into  the  shack  quite  as  easily  as  if  months  had 
not  passed  without  a  sight  of  him;  he  came  almost 


254      JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

daily  afterward.  It  was  like  Jock  to  assume  the  new 
relation  in  this  easy,  companionable  way. 

Joyce  was  grateful.  This  was  but  another  proof 
of  Gaston's  greatness. 

"Everything  going  straight,  Joyce?"  The  ques- 
tion came  one  day  while  the  keen  eyes  were  taking 
in  the  store  of  wood,  water  and  other  necessaries. 

"Everything,  Jock;  and  the  store-room  is  stocked. 
Sit  down  —  and  tell  me  the  news." 

Joyce  was  not  particularly  interested,  but  it  would 
put  Jock  at  ease. 

Jock  gracefully  flung  himself  into  Gaston's  chair. 
The  two  were,  of  course,  in  the  living  room. 

"There's  company  up  to  the  bungalow,"  he  spoke 
from  the  fullness  of  his  heart;  "a  widder  girl." 

"A  —  a  widow?"  Joyce  was  for  a  moment 
perplexed. 

"Yes.  She  don't  look  a  day  older  than  Drew's 
sister,  and  she's  powerful  cheerful  for  an  afflicted 
person.  But  maybe  she  ain't  afflicted.  They  ain't, 
always.  She  looks  as  if  she  was  dressing  up  in  them 
togs  for  fun,  and  at  first  glimpse  it  strikes  one  as 
sacrilegious.  Something  like  a  kid  using  holy  words 
in  its  play." 

Joyce  smiled.  After  all  it  was  good  to  have  the 
dear  human  touch,  even  if  the  vital  spark  were 
lacking. 

"  Is  —  the  widow-girl  pretty,  Jock  ? "  she  asked  in 
order  to  detain  Filmer. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        255 

"Well,"  a  line  came  between  Jock's  eyes,  "that's 
the  puzzler.  Now  Drew's  sister  — "  Jock  spoke  in 
this  detached  way  of  Constance  Drew  for  self- 
defense —  "Drew's  sister  stands  for  what  she  is; 
a  good,  honest,  handsome  girl.  You  own  up  to  that 
and  that's  the  end  of  it.  This  one  sets  you  thinking. 
Is  she,  or  ain't  she  pretty  ?  you  keep  putting  to  your- 
self. Do  you  like  her,  or  don't  you  ?  Is  she  thinking 
about  what  you're  saying,  or  ain't  she  ?  That's 
the  way  your  mind  works  when  you  are  with  her, 
till  it  seems  a  plain  waste  of  time,  and  riles  you 
way  down  to  the  ground.  I  like  a  woman  what, 
having  passed  up  her  personality,  lets  you  alone  as 
to  further  guessing  'less  you  have  a  mind  to  guess. 
Joyce!" 

"Yes,  Jock." 

"They  want  you  up  to  the  bungalow  to  help  along 
with  the  Christmas  doings.  I  never  saw  such  hap- 
penings in  all  my  life.  All  St.  Ange  is  going  to  see 
what's  what  for  once.  Presents  for  everybody; 
big  party  at  the  bungalow  Christmas  night;  the 
overflow  is  going  even  to  reach  up  to  the  camps. 
Boxes  and  barrels  arriving  every  day  from  down  the 
State.  Lord,  but  you  should  see  Tom  Smith's 
curiosity!  There  are  big  doings.  They  call  it  a 
kind  of  thanksgiving  for  the  Reverend  Kid's  re- 
covery; and  they  want  you." 

Joyce  started  back.  She  was  interested,  but  only 
as  it  was  apart  from  herself. 


256        JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS 

"Oh,  Jock!'*  she  cried.  "I  couldn't.  I  just 
couldn't." 

"I  thought  you  couldn't,"  Jock  returned  calmly; 
"and  you  shan't  if  you  don't  want  to." 

"Thank  you.  Don't  let  them  feel  hurt,  but  I 
could  not  go." 

Jock  cast  a  sympathetic  glance  toward  her;  and 
changed  the  subject. 

"It's  wonderful  the  grip  that  weak  little  Reverend 
has  already  got  on  this  town,"  he  went  on.  "He's 
a  sly  one.  Preaching  ain't  in  it  with  the  under- 
current he's  let  loose  here.  It's  just  sapping  the 
foundations  of  society.  It's  setting  free  a  lot  of 
good  stuff,  but  it's  striking  Tate  an  all-fired  blow." 

"Tell  me  about  it,  Jock.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  been 
asleep  a  —  long  while." 

"Well  there  are  sermons  and  sermons."  Jock 
was  flattered  by  the  look  in  Joyce's  large  eyes.  "  If 
the  Reverend  Kid  had  opened  shop  in  the  regular 
way,  Tate  and  his  pals  would  have  downed  him  in 
no  time;  but  what  you  going  to  do  about  sermons 
that  are  slipped  in  with  talks  to  women  over  their 
wash-tubs,  and  what  hot  ? 

"Him  and  me  was  going  by  Falstar's  the  other 
day,  and  Peggy  was  washing  uncommon  hard. 
Drew,  he  steps  close  to  the  tubs  and  says  he,  'I  tell 
you,  Mrs.  Falstar,  I  don't  know  no  better  religion 
than  getting  the  spots  out  instead  of  slighting  them. 
It's  like  the  little  Scotch  girl  who  said  she  knew  when 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       257 

she  got  religion,  for  she  had  to  sweep  under  the  mats.' 
Peggy  was  all  a-grin,  and  Lord !  how  she  went  at  it. 
Later,  she  attacked  the  mats.  It  had  set  her  think- 
ing. I  saw  'em  hanging  out,  and  she  beating 
them  as  she  must  often  feel  like  beating  Pete." 
A  real  laugh  greeted  this,  and  Jock  glowed  with 
approval. 

"And  then  what  does  that  young  lunger  do,  but 
gather  in  all  the  floating  population  in  the  kid  line, 
and  play  games  with  'em,  and  read  thrillers  to  'em 
up  at  the  bungalow  every  evening.  He's  teaching 
them  as  wants  to  learn,  too.  He's  got  Tate  flam- 
gasted.  You  see,  the  old  man  depended,  for  the 
future,  on  them  youngsters  that  haunted  the  tavern 
and  got  the  drippings  that  fell  from  within.  The 
Black  Cat  Tavern  Kindergarten  is  busted,  and  the 
Bungalow  stock  is  going  up." 

"Kindergarten?     What's    that,    Jock?" 

"  Oh,  it's  a  new-fangled  idea  in  the  way  of  schools. 
Sort  of  breaking  up  the  ground  for  later  planting." 

"Who  told  you  about  it  ?" 

"Why  —  Drew's  sister."  Jock's  face  looked  stern 
and  he  gazed  into  space. 

"It's  a  splendid  idea,  Jock."  Joyce's  interest 
was  keen  enough  now.  "Some  one,  even  St.  Ange's 
folks,  should  have  seen  how  fine  it  is  to  keep  the 
children  away  from  the  tavern.  How  we  have  let 
everything  drift!  Why  Jock,  if  the  boys  and  girls 
learn  to  hate  the  Black  Cat;  if  they  are  given  some- 


258       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

thing  good,  why  of  course  St.  Ange  is  going  to  be 
another  kind  of  place.  Does  Miss  Drew  help  in 
teaching?" 

"Does  she?"  Poor  Jock  smiled  pitifully  in  his 
effort  to  appear  unconcerned.  "They  sit  at  her  feet 
lost  to  everything  but  what  she  tells  'em.  Billy 
Falstar,  before  he  left  to  be  a  camp  fiddler,  was  a 
reformed  brat.  She  had  smote  him  hip  and  thigh, 
and  finished  him,  as  far  as  a  career  of  crime  is  con- 
cerned. Do  you  know,  he  went  up  to  see  her  with 
his  red  hair  plastered  down  with  lard  until  it  was  a 
dull  maroon  colour;  his  square  cotton  handkercher 
was  perfumed  with  kerosene,  and  I  tell  you  he  was 
a  sight  and  a  smell  to  remember;  but  Drew's  sister 
stood  it  without  a  word.  She  told  me  afterward 
that  it  was  a  proof  conclusive  —  them's  her  words  - 
of  Billy's  redemption. 

"I  saw  the  brat  the  day  he  started  for  camp.  I 
tell  you  the  ginger  was  all  out  of  Billy.  When  he 
was  obliged  to  swear  he  did  it  in  whispers." 

"Poor  Billy!  He's  pretty  young  to  begin  camp 
life.  There's  good  in  Billy.  I  wish  Mr.  Drew 
would  make  Peter  send  him  to  school." 

"That's  what  he's  planning  to  do." 

Soon  after  this,  when  Jock  started  to  go,  he  said: 
"So  everything's  fit  for  a  spell  ?" 

"  Everything  Jock,  until  —  " 

They  looked  at  each  other  mutely.  Then  Jock 
put  his  hand  out  awkwardly  and  took  Joyce's. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       259 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said  quietly.  His  manner  puzileci 
the  girl. 

"Life's  a  queer  jamboree,"  he  laughed  lightly. 
"  It's  a  heap  easier  to  stand  it  if  you  give  yourself 
the  hope  of  cutting  it  if  you  find  the  pace  too  fast. 
So  'good-bye'  is  always  in  order  even  if  you're  going 
to  drop  in  to-morrow.  Good-bye." 

Joyce  walked  with  him  to  the  door.  "  Good-bye/' 
she  said  with  a  growing  doubt  in  her  heart;  "good- 
bye, Jock  —  and  I  can  never  tell  you  how  I  thank 
you." 

It  was  many  a  long  day  before  Joyce  was  to  see 
Filmer  again,  and  she  always  felt  that  she  knew  it 
as  she  saw  him  pass  beyond  the  pines  after  that 
"good-bye." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  boyish  longing  for  Christmas 
cheer  that  struck  such  a  deadly  blow  at  the  heart  of 
Billy,  the  fiddler,  in  Camp  7.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
arrow  that  smites  all,  sooner  or  later.  Be  that 
as  it  may,  as  Christmas  drew  near  the  mournful  tunes 
Billy  managed  to  saw  from  his  fiddle  got  on  to  the 
nerves  of  the  men. 

From  remarks  aimed  at  his  efforts,  pieces  of  wood 
and  articles  of  clothing  were  aimed  at  him,  and 
Billy's  life  became  a  burden  in  the  dull,  deep  woods. 

"I  can't  make  jigs  come,"  he  whined  one  evening, 
"when  I'm  chock  full  of  hymn  tunes." 

"You'll  be  chock  full  of  cold  lead  if  you  fill  this 


26o       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

hull  camp  with  them  death  dirges,"  warned  one  man 
who  was  bearing  about  all  he  could  anyway. 

"  I  wish  to  —  I  just  wish  I  was  plugged  full  of 
lead  —  and  done  for,"  was  Billy's  unlooked-for 
reply;  and  then,  to  the  surprise  of  all,  he  bent  his 
red  curls  over  the  fiddle  and  wept  as  only  a  homesick 
youngster  can  weep  when  the  barriers  of  his  fourteen 
years  are  down,  and  the  flood  has  its  way. 

That  night,  Billy  in  his  bunk,  sleepless  and  con- 
sumed with  longing  for  home  and  the  excitement 
of  the  bungalow  element,  planned  desertion.  At 
midnight  he  crept  to  the  larder  and  packed  enough 
food  to  last  for  a  couple  of  days,  at  four  o'clock  he 
stole  from  the  sleeping-shed,  and,  cheered  by  the 
unanimous  snores  that  rang  in  his  ears,  he  turned 
his  freckled,  determined  face  toward  St.  Ange  and 
the  one  absorbing  passion  of  his  life. 

The  outlook  of  the  Solitude  at  four  in  the  morning 
was  not  an  altogether  cheerful  one  even  to  ambitious 
youth.  Indeed  there  was  little,  if  any,  outlook. 

Blackness  around;  cold  starlight  overhead.  Snow 
and  ice  everywhere  except  on  the  trail  that  a  "V" 
plow  had  made  through  the  forest. 

It  was  cruelly  still  and  lonely.  "Gawd,"  said 
Billy  raising  his  eyes  to  the  emptiness  above  him, 
"you  see  me  to  the  end  of  this,  and,  by  gosh!  I'll 
swear  to  go  to  Hillcrest  to  school." 

From  irreligious  depravity,  Billy  had  risen  to 
reverent  heights,  and  Hillcrest  restraint  was  beautiful 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   261 

in  his  thought,  as  a  method  of  preparing  him  for 
-Her. 

A  fear  he  had  never  known  had  birth  in  Billy's 
heart  then  as  he  slipped  and  slid  down  the  icy  trail 
that  had  been  flooded  and  frozen  for  the  passage 
of  the  logs.  Even  his  unprotected  boyhood  had 
been  shielded  from  four-o'clock  journeys  in  the 
wintry  woods  heretofore. 

The  only  help  Billy  could  draw  from  the  situation 
was,  that  so  far  he  could  refrain  from  whistling. 
When  in  this  tense  state  a  boy  is  reduced  to  whistling 
all  hope  for  strength  is  gone. 

A  distant  groan;  swish!  ah!  ah!  and  crash!  rent 
the  stillness.  The  boy  drew  his  breath  in  sharp. 

"D  —  blast  that  tree!"  gurgled  he,  "what  did  it 
have  to  fall  for  now?" 

Suddenly  a  deer  darted  across  the  trail  and  turned 
its  wondering  eyes  on  the  small  brother  of  the  woods. 
Billy's  spirits  rose.  The  wild  things  were  friends. 
The  boy's  depravity  had  always  been  redeemed  by 
a  lack  of  cruelty. 

A  little  farther  on  the  way,  Billy  seated  himself 
on  a  fallen  log,  and  cheered  his  inner  man  by  a 
"  bite  of  breakfast."  Presently  a  shy,  wild  creature 
drew  near;  took  note  and  courage  and  scurried  to 
Billy's  feet.  With  generous  hand  the  boy  shared 
his  early  meal,  and  made  a  familiar  noise  that  further 
won  the  little  animal's  confidence. 

Billy  had  his  plans  well  laid.     There  was  a  lumber- 


262        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

man's  hut  a  day's  walk  from  the  camp;  he  must  make 
that  by  night.  There  would  be  a  rough  bed  and 
chopped  wood;  he  could  sleep  and  rest  and  then,  if  all 
went  well,  he  ought  to  make  St.  Ange  by  the  end  of 
the  following  day,  particularly  if  he  got  a  "lift," 
which  was  not  impossible. 

Just  then,  for  the  morning  was  beginning  to  show 
through  the  gaunt  trees,  a  bird-note  sounded.  Billy 
rose  quickly  —  there  was  no  time  to  waste.  Some- 
times a  bird  sounded  that  warning  when  a  storm 
was  near.  It  would  never  do  for  him  to  face  a  storm 
so  far  from  shelter. 

All  that  day  Billy  trudged  on.  Fortunately  it 
was  a  constant,  though  gradual,  decline  and  the 
journey  was  made  easier.  He  ate  occasionally, 
and  gained  courage  and  strength,  but  it  was  nearly 
nine  o'clock  —  though  Billy  was  not  aware  of  it  — 
before  the  landmarks  proved  his  hope  true  —  the 
woodman's  hut  was  near  at  hand. 

The  boy  had  all  the  keenness  of  his  age  and 
environment.  He  knew  that  others  besides  himself 
might  avail  themselves  of  the  shelter,  and  he  had 
reason  for  choosing  his  company;  so,  before  he 
reached  the  house,  he  took  to  tiptoeing,  and  keeping 
clear  of  the  underbrush. 

The  hut  had  one  small  window,  before  which  hung 
a  dilapidated  shutter  by  a  rusty  hinge.  The  door 
opened,  Billy  knew,  into  a  little  passage  from 
which  the  room  door  opened,  and  from  which  a 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       263 

rickety  ladder  led  up  to  a  loft,  unused  and  apparently 
useless. 

As  the  boy  neared  the  house  his  trained  senses 
detected  the  smell  of  fire  and  the  sound  of  muffled 
voices.  He  crept  to  the  window,  and  through  the 
broken  shutter  saw  two  figures  crouching  by  the 
blazing  logs,  but  the  faces  were  turned  away,  and 
the  gloom  of  the  room  made  it  impossible  for  Billy 
to  decide  whether  the  men  were  familiars  or  strangers. 

Meanwhile  the  wind  was  rising  with  a  storm 
in  its  keeping;  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  seek 
refuge,  for,  until  he  could  determine  his  further 
course,  Billy  decided  to  take  to  the  loft  in  order 
to  reconnoitre. 

Cautiously  he  made  his  way  to  the  door,  lifted  the 
latch  and  gained  the  entry.  There  he  paused,  for 
the  voices  had  ceased  speaking  and  the  boy  feared 
that  he  had  been  heard.  After  a  moment  he  con- 
cluded it  was  safer  to  be  in  the  loft  in  case  the  men 
were  suspicious,  so  he  hurriedly  mounted  the  ladder 
and  crawled  along  the  dusty  floor  of  the  space  over- 
head. 

Gratefully,  to  his  half-frozen  form,  the  heat  from 
below  rose,  and  with  it  came  the  odour  of  frying 
bacon,  and  the  sound  of  sizzling  fat. 

Fortune  was  still  further  with  Billy.  There  was 
a  pile  of  discarded  bedding  and  clothing  on  the 
floor.  If  worst  came  he  could  stay  where  he  was 
and  be  partially  comfortable. 


264        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

As  he  reached  this  conclusion  a  voice  from  below 
caused  his  heart  to  stand  still. 

"I  thought  I'd  seen  the  last  of  yer.  You  got  all 
I  had  — what  more  do  you  want  with  me?" 

It  was  Jude  Lauzoon  who  spoke. 

"See  here,  son";  and  the  smooth  tones  filled 
Billy  with  an  old  fear;  "that  was  all  a  big  mistake. 
My  hand  was  out  of  the  game.  St.  Ange  had  taken 
the  nerve  out  of  me.  I've  got  my  steam  up  now." 
It  was  Jared  Birkdale!  and  Billy  had  hoped  he  was 
never  to  see  the  man  again.  From  his  babyhood 
up,  a  look  from  Jared  had  had  power  to  quell  him 
when  a  blow  from  another  might  fail. 

"Well,  I  ain't  got  nothing  more  to  give  you." 
Jude  sounded  sullen  and  ugly. 

Through  a  crack  in  the  floor  Billy  could  see  that 
it  was  Jude  who  was  preparing  the  evening  meal, 
while  Jared,  as  usual,  was  taking  his  ease,  and 
discoursing  at  his  leisure. 

"You've  got  more  to  give  than  what  you  know 
Jude,  my  boy.  What  you  doing  here,  anyway?" 

"You  see  what  I'm  doing.  Here,  take  this  hunk 
of  bread,  and  come  nearer  so  I  can  flip  the  bacon  on.'* 

The  sight  and  smell  made  Billy's  mouth  water, 
even  while  something  in  him  foretold  danger. 

"Now,  see  here,  Jude."  Jared  spoke  through 
a  full  mouth.  "You  and  me  can't  afford  to  work 
at  cross  purposes.  Where  we  failed  once,  we  are 
going  to  succeed  next  time." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       265 

"You  darsn't  show  your  face  down  there  beyond 
the  woods  again,  and  you  know  it."  Jude  spoke 
doggedly.  "They  was  after  us  both.  Besides  I 
can't  stand  transplanting.  It  would  be  the  death 
of  me.  It  nearly  was." 

"Don't  be  white-livered,  Jude.  You  see  the 
laws  have  changed  more  than  any  one  could  have 
thought,  whi'e  I  was  browsing  away  in  St.  Ange. 
That's  where  I  made  my  mistake.  I  ought  to  have 
taken  time  and  got  the  lay  of  the  land  'fore  I  beck- 
oned to  you;  but  it  looked  safe  enough,  and  I  had  to 
take,  or  leave  the  Joint,  sudden.  How  could  any 
man  know  it  was  spotted,  and  so  had  to  be  got  rid 
of?  It  was  one  on  us  and  no  mistake. 

"  Fill  up  my  cup,  Jude,  you're  a  tasty  one  with 
cooking." 

Jude  obeyed  and  muttered  as  he  did  so:  "Luck 
or  no  luck,  I  ain't  got  nothing,  nor  ever  will  have 
again,  so  that's  an  end  of  it." 

"Jude,  where  you  going  to?" 

"Where  be  you?" 

Up  aloft  Billy  waited. 

"I'm  going  to  St.  Ange."  There  was  defiance  in 
Jude's  tone  —  defiance  and  a  sort  of  shame;  Jude 
had  again  lost  his  grip. 

"  I've  just  come  from  there,"  said  Jared. 

And  now  Billy  could  see  through  his  peephole 
that  Jude  started  into  life. 

"You  been  there?" 


266       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Jared  gurgled  assent. 

"How  is  — she?" 

"That's  it,  Jude.  Now  let's  get  down  to  busi- 
ness. Having  to  hide  somewhere  after  that  little 
unpleasantness  down  State,  I  ran  up  to  St.  Ange. 
Knowing  the  way  about,  it  was  a  better  place  than 
some  others,  and  I  could  keep  from  sight  and  find 
things  out.  I  stopped  at  Laval's  haunted  shack." 
Billy  shivered.  "I  kept  clear  of  my  piace." 

"Guess  you  wasn't  disturbed  none  at  Laval's," 
sneered  Jude  and  he  gave  an  unpleasant  laugh. 

'Twas  blasted  cold,  and  I  had  the  devil's  time 
getting  enough  at  night  to  keep  me  going  by  day; 
but  I  learned  a  heap,  and  I  struck  your  gold  mine 
all  right,  sonny." 

"What  you  mean?     Spit  it  out." 

Billy  crouched  closer,  and  his  breath  came  thick 
and  fast. 

"He's  — left  her!" 

"Gaston?"  An  ugly  oath  escaped  Jude. 

"Gaston.  But  not  for  what  you  think.  Jude, 
he's  after  you."  Jared  paused  for  effect. 

"After  me?"  The  ugliness  gave  place  to  a  dull 
fear. 

"You,  my  son.  He  wants  you  to  free  Joyce." 
Evidently  this  announcement  failed  to  reach  Jude's 
intelligence. 

"  Free  her  ?  Me  ?  What's  got  you,  old  man  ? 
Didn't  she  cut,  herself?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   267 

"You  don't  catch  on,  Jude.  He  wants  to  do  the 
big ,  white  thing  by  the  girl  —  marry  her  out  of  hand 
clean  and  particular,  and  he  wants  to  get  your  word 
that  you  won't  make  any  trouble." 

A  silence  followed  this.  Jude  was  struggling  to. 
digest  it;  but  the  result  was  simple. 

"Well,  by  thunder!  Won't  he  have  to  pay  high 
for  it?" 

There  was  excitement  and  feverish  energy  in 
Jude's  voice  now. 

"  Maybe  he'll  fling  a  bone  to  you  —  but  don't 
you  see,  son,  you  can  hold  off  and  make  him  pay,  and 
pay  and  pay  ? 

"Now  tell  me,  so  true  as  you  live,  what  was  you 
going  down  to  St.  Ange  for?" 

"  I  was  going  down  to  "  —  Jude  hesitated.  "  Well, 
I  was  tired  of  being  hounded,  and  having  to  hide  and 
starve.  I  was  going  down  to  get  —  what  —  I  could 
—  and  no  questions  asked."  A  foolish  laugh 
followed.  Beside  Jared's  subtlety,  Jude  seemed  a 
babbling  infant  with  feeble  aims. 

Jared  was  contemptuous. 

"Gosh  darn  it,  Jude!  It's  good  I  fell  across  your 
path  again.  You  might  have  thrown  away  the  one, 
great,  shining  opportunity  of  your  life.  Listen  to 
my  plans.  You  better  stay  where  you  are,  and  let 
me  run  this  here  show.  I  got  the  tracks  all  laid  out. 
I'm  sort  o'  inspired  where  it  comes  to  plotting  for 
them  I  love.  I'm  going  to  write  a  touching  letter 


268        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

to  her.  It's  going  to  state  that  Gaston  is  laid  up 
from  an  accident  in  a  hut,  further  up  to  the  north. 
A  lumberman  is  going  to  write  the  letter  —  catch 
on  ?  and  she's  wanted  up  to  Gaston's  dying  bedside. 
The  lumberman  is  going  to  meet  her  at  Laval's. 
When  she's  caught  safe  and  sure,  Jock  Filmer  — 
he's  the  go-between  in  all  this  —  will  get  that 
information,  or  the  part  about  her  going  away,  to 
Gaston;  then  the  game's  in  our  hands.  If  Gaston 
means  business,  he'll  pay  what  we  say.  If  he  ain't 
sharp  set  as  to  a  big  rigger,  we've  got  Joyce;  and  by 
thunder!  who's  got  a  better  right?  Then  we'll 
make  tracks,  after  the  spring  freshet,  to  another  place 
I  know  of  where  laws  is  stationary  and  folks  ain't 
over  keen,  and  where  a  handsome  woman  like  Joyce 
will  help.  I've  got  money  enough  left  from  the 
wreck  to  tide  us  over,  my  son  —  unless  Gaston  planks 
down." 

All  this  completed  Billy's  demoralization.  His 
teeth  chattered  louder,  and  for  the  life  of  him  he 
could  not  control  an  audible  sound,  half  sob,  half 
sigh.  But  Jude  was  evidently  as  much  overpowered 
as  Billy,  for  the  boy  suddenly  heard  him  emit  an 
oath,  and  then  a  volley  of  questions  designed  to  clear 
the  air  after  Jared's  storm  of  eloquence. 

"She'll  come,  all  right."  Jared  had  his  answers 
ready.  "  It's  an  all-fired  queer  state  of  things  down 
there  to  St.  Ange.  You  and  me  ain't  never  struck 
Gaston's  kind  before.  Joyce'll  go  when  he  calls. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

and  don't  you  forget  it  —  all  I've  got  to  do  is  to 
make  the  lumberman's  letter  real  convincing. 

"Sure!  I'm  the  lumberman,  all  right.  Camp 
up  north  ?  Nothing.  I'll  land  her  here  where  her 
rightful  and  loving  husband  will  be  waiting  for 
her  till  further  developments.  How  did  I  find 
out  the  lay  of  the  land  ?  Gosh !  that  was  a  tight 
squeeze.  I  found  out  he  was  over  to  Hillcrest, 
Gaston  you  know;  and  I  run  up,  after  dark  to  his 
shack,  planning  to  get  a  haul  from  Joyce.  I  got 
into  the  back  kitchen  while  she  was  outside,  and 
before  I  could  get  away  —  in  walks  Gaston.  What 
I  saw  and  heard  that  evening,  Jude,  ain't  necessary 
here,  but  it  blazed  our  trail,  boy,  and  I  cut  later  — 
taking  more  than  I  planned  for."  Birkdale  breathed 
hard.  "You  leave  Gaston  to  me,  curse  'im! 

"Make  trouble  for  us?  How  in  thunder  is  a 
man  to  make  trouble  for  a  husband  who  is  taking 
his  own  wife  to  his  dishonoured  bosom  ?  Lord ! 
Jude,  you've  got  about  as  much  backbone  as  an 
angle  worm. 

"What?"  Some  muttered  words  followed  that 
Billy  could  not  catch.  Then  — 

"Trust  me!  Does  any  one  know  to  this  day, 
you  blamed  fool,  who  shot  that  government  detective 
that  was  snooping  into  that  clearing  you  and  me 
made  —  five  years  back  ?  Gaston'll  pay  or  you'll 
take  one  of  them  never-failing  shots  of  yours* 
and " 


270       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  Billy,  and  he  was  only 
fourteen. 

The  low,  smoke-filled  loft  seemed  to  draw  close 
about  him,  and  it  smothered  the  life  out  of  him. 
He  thought  he  screamed,  but  instead,  an  unseen 
power  laid  a  kindly  hand  upon  his  trembling  mouth, 
and  a  pause  came  in  his  troubled  life.  It  was  not 
sleep,  nor  was  it  faintness  that  struck  like  death  the 
frightened  boy  —  but  an  oblivion,  from  which  he 
issued  clear-headed  and  strengthened. 

When  he  again  realized  his  surroundings  he  was 
cramped  and  cold,  and  hungry  as  a  wolf.  From 
below  two  deep,  unmusical  snores  rose  comfortingly. 
There  was  but  one  thing  to  do  —  and  Billy  must 
prepare  for  it. 

He  ate  every  crumb  of  food  that  remained  in  his 
bag;  then  he  rubbed  himself  until  his  numbness 
lessened.  At  last  he  was  ready  to  set  forth  for  St. 
Ange,  and,  be  it  forever  to  his  glory,  Billy  the 
Redeemed,  had  only  Joyce  in  mind  when  his  grim 
little  freckled  face  once  more  turned  toward  home ! 

Christmas,  the  joys  of  the  bungalow,  all,  all  were 
forgotten.  It  was  a  big  and  an  awful  thing  he  had 
on  hand,  but  he  must  carry  it  out  to  the  end.  Float- 
ing gossip  gained  strength  in  Billy's  memory  as  he 
trudged  through  the  black  morning  of  that  second 
hard  day. 

Childhood  was  not  much  considered  in  St.  Ange, 
but  childhood  protects  itself  to  a  certain  degree, 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       271 

and  Billy  had  never  fully  understood  what  the  gossip 
about  Joyce  had  meant.  All  at  once  he  seemed  to 
have  become  a  man;  and,  oh!  thank  God,  a  man 
with  a  warm  heart.  A  kinship  of  suffering  and  hope 
with  Joyce  made  him  wondrous  tender.  He'd 
stand  by  her.  They  should  all  see  what  he  could 
do.  And  that  hated  Jared  Birkdale  should  be  driven 
forever  from  St.  Ange. 

It  was  a  long,  dreary  journey  which  Billy  took  that 
day.  The  plentiful  morning  meal  had  beggared  the 
future,  but  it  had  given  the  boy  power  to  start  well. 

With  daylight  and  home  in  view,  although  at  a 
dim  distance,  Billy  felt  that  he  controlled  Fate. 

It  would  be  some  days  before  Jared  could  possibly 
get  the  letter  to  Joyce.  Long  before  it  came  he, 
Billy,  would  be  on  the  spot,  and  nothing  could  pass 
unnoticed  before  his  eyes. 

At  eight  o'clock  of  that  second  day,  the  boy,  worn 
to  the  verge  of  exhaustion,  staggered  into  his  mother's 
kitchen,  and  almost  frightened  Peggy  to  death  by 
simply  announcing: 

"I've  cut,  and  I'll  be  eternally  busted  if  I  ever 
go  back,  so  there!  And  I'm  starved." 

With  the  latter  information  Peggy  could  deal; 
the  former  was  beyond  her.  She  prepared  a  satisfy- 
ing repast  for  her  son;  noting,  as  she  hovered  over 
him,  the  change  that  had  come.  He  was  no  longer 
a  child,  therefore  he  was  to  be  respected.  An  awe 
possessed  Peggy.  The  awe  of  Man  as  she  had  ever 


272       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

known  him.  Her  Billy  was  a  man!  Then  she 
noticed  how  thin  he  was,  and  how  his  mouth  drooped, 
and  how  black  the  circles  were  under  his  big  eyes. 

Had  they  been  cruel  to  him  in  camp  ?  They 
could  be  so  cruel;  but  then,  Billy  was  a  favourite. 

What  had  happened  ? 

It  was  proof  of  Billy's  spiritual  and  physical  change 
that  Peggy  did  not  cuff  him  and  demand  an  explana- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XV 

BILLY  ate  long  and  uninterruptedly.     Peggy 
supplied    his    demands    before    they   were 
voiced,  and  Maggie,  the  small  and  unim- 
pressed sister,  eyed  him  from  across  the  table  with 
keen,  unsympathetic  stare.     Occasionally  she  made 
known  her  opinions  with  a  calm,  sisterly  detachment 
that  roused  no  resentment  in  the  new  being  who 
had  hurled  himself  upon  them. 

"You  eat  like  a  real  pig,"  Maggie  remarked  with 
a  sniff.  She  was  being  trained  for  the  bungalow 
fete,  and  she  had  suffered  in  the  process. 

Billy  eyed  her  indifferently. 

"  Push  them  'taters  nearer,"  was  all  he  replied. 

"Your  father'll  kill  you,"  Peggy  ventured  timidly, 
as  she  filled  Billy's  cup  for  the  fourth  time  with  a 
concoction  which  passed  in  St.  Ange  for  coffee, 
because  Leon  Tate  so  declared  it. 

"No,  he  »von't,  neither,"  Billy  said;  "nobody 
ain't  ever  goJng  to  kill  me,  never!" 

He  turned  a  tense,  defiant  face  to  his  mother 
but  there  was  something  in  his  eyes  that  drew  tears 
to  Peggy's.  She  came  behind  his  chair  and,  half 
afraid,  let  her  hand  rest  upon  his  thin  shoulder. 

Wonder  of  wonders!     Billy  did  not  shake  off  the 


274        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

unfamiliar  caress.     On  the  contrary  he  smiled  into 
the  work-worn  face  above  him. 

"Ain't  Billy  terrible  speckled  when  the  tan's 
off?"  Maggie  broke  in,  "and  his  hair's  as  red  as 
my  flannel  petticoat." 

Peggy  cast  a  threatening  glance  at  her  daughter. 

"Clear  off  the  table!"  she  commanded,  for  Billy 
was  at  last  finished. 

Maggie  set  about  the  task  with  relief.  Something 
was  afoot  that  she  could  not  understand.  Maggie 
was  not  spiritually  constructed,  but  she  was  going 
to  be  a  woman  some  day! 

"Mother!"     Generally    Billy    addressed    her    as 
"say!"  "Mother,  I'm  going   over    to   Hillcrest    to 
school.     I'm   going  to  work  when   I   can,   and  - 
make  some-what  of  myself." 

Maggie  dropped  a  cup,  and,  because  she  happened 
to  be  near  her  mother,  Peggy  relieved  her  own  feelings 
by  boxing  the  girl's  ears.  Then  she  turned  again 
to  her  man-child  and  stared  stupidly. 

Poor  downtrodden  Peggy!  She  was  at  a  crisis 
of  motherhood  that  is  common  to  high  and  low. 
Since  Mary  of  Galilee  found  her  son  in  the  Temple 
questioning  Wisdom,  and  with  awe  beheld  that  he 
was  no  longer  her  little  child,  the  paralyzing  question, 
"What  have  I  to  do  with  thee?"  has  set  maternity 
back  upon  itself  over  and  over  again,  in  order  that 
the  suddenly  arrived  Man  might  be  upon  "his 
Father's  business." 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   275 

*' Going  to  —  make  —  something  of  yourself?" 

Peggy's  trembling  hands  groped  feebly,  and  then, 
thank  heaven!  Billy  drew  near  and  glorified  this 
new,  but  lonely  place  of  his  own  creation. 

"You've  done  your  best,  mother;  I  see  it  now, 
but  I  was  —  I  ain't  going  to  say  what  I  was  —  but 
I'm  going  to  be  something  different;  and  you're 
going  to  help  me  now,  like  you  always  have." 

A  pain  gripped  Peggy's  throat,  and  the  room 
whirled  about.  Then  the  mist  cleared  from  the 
dim  eyes  and  Hope  lighted  them. 

"Son,"  she  said  solemnly,  "I  am.  I  don't  quite 
see  how,  but  the  way  will  be  opened.  Go  in,  now, 
and  rest;  you  look  clean  done  for." 

It  was  humiliating,  but  Billy  had  to  feel  his  way 
to  the  door  of  the  bedchamber  beyond. 

Alone  with  her  daughter,  Peggy's  Vision  on  the 
Mount  faded. 

"Billy's  aged  terrible,"  she  said  to  Maggie,  who 
was  still  sulking  because  of  the  boxed  ear. 

"I  know  what's  the  matter  with  him."  Maggie's 
lynx-eyes  glittered.  "I  found  some  po'try  he  writ 
on  the  back  of  the  wood-shed  door.  He  thought 
nobody  but  him  ever  went  there.  It's  grand  po'try." 

Maggie  struck  an  attitude,  and  drawled: 

My  heart  feels  like  a  chunk  of  rock 
When  I  am  far  from  you, 
But  when  you  trip  acrost  my  vision 
My  heart  melts  same  as  du. 


276       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"I  learned  that  in  one  morning!"  Maggie  proudly 
declared.  "I  don't  care  if  he  is  my  brother,  that's 
grand." 

Peggy  dropped  helplessly  in  her  chair.  She  had 
never  looked  for  glory  in  her  modest  dream.  That 
Billy  should  escape  the  degradation  of  the  Black 
Cat,  and  that  Maggie  might  have  a  lighter  cross 
than  her  own  to  carry,  had  been  the  most  she  had 
plead  for  when  she  had  had  time  to  pray;  and  now  — 
why  God  had  crowned  her  lot  by  children  who  were 
undoubtedly  geniuses!  Maggie,  too,  had  a  circle 
of  light  about  her  head.  And  it  had  all  dawned 
upon  Peggy  in  a  flash  of  an  eye. 

"You  ain't  sick  to  your  stomach,  are  you, 
mother?" 

Peggy  repudiated  this  with  scorn. 

"  Maggie,"  she  said  softly,  "  I  want  that  you  should 
write  that  out  real  plain  for  me,  in  print.  I'm  going 
to  take  it  up  to  the  bungalow." 

"Billy'll  cuss  us."     Maggie  turned  coward. 

"Oh!  I  ain't  going  to  let  Mr.  Drew  think  Billy 
done  it."  Peggy  was  waxing  bold.  "I'm  going 
to  tell  him  it  was  writ  by  a  noted  po'try-maker, 
and  I  want  to  find  out  what  his  views  is  as  to  its 
fineness." 

Maggie  looked  dubious. 

"He  might  guess,"  she  said. 

"  How  could  he  ? "     Peggy  raised  her  face  ecstati- 
cally.    Then  Maggie  came  close  to  her  mother. 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       277 

"Ma/*  she  whispered,  "don't  you  know  why 
Billy  writ  that,  and  why  he  wants  to  get  learning, 
and  what  not  ?" 

"No,"  gasped  Peggy,  and  she  felt  that  the  heavens 
were  about  to  open. 

"He  wants  to  be  different  so  he  can  spark  — 
her!" 

"Spark?"  Peggy  panted  inanely  as  if  the  word 
were  of  foreign  tongue. 

"Yep,  spark." 

"Her?" 

"Yep.     Her.     Miss  Drew." 

Peggy's  jaw  dropped 

Since  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door,  and  Billy's 
unlooked-for  entrance,  events  had  crowded  upon 
Peggy  Falstar's  horizon. 

Her  children  had  been  translated.  She  felt  deso- 
late and  stricken,  although  her  heart  glowed  with 
pride  as  she  viewed  them  from  afar.  In  a  last 
attempt  to  cling  to  her  familiar  attitude  toward 
Maggie  at  least,  Peggy  vaguely  remarked: 

"  I  wonder  if  your  being  a  girl  makes  you  such 
a  plain  fool  ?" 

"  I  'spose  it  might,"  Maggie  returned  indifferently. 

"Well,"  her  mother  continued,  "don't  you  go 
upsetting  Billy  with  any  of  your  fool  ideas." 

"I  ain't  going  to  hurt  'im."  Maggie  tossed  her 
head. 

"Hurt  him!"  Peggy  sniffed.     "You  lav  this   up 


278       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

for  future  hatching,  Maggie  Falstar.  You,  me,  nor 
nobody  ain't  ever  going  to  hurt  him  again  and  know 
it.  What  hurts  he  gets,  from  now  on,  he  ain't 
going  to  howl  about." 

Just  then  the  supposedly  slumbering  Billy  came 
out  of  the  inner  room.  Mother  and  sister  eyed 
him  critically.  He  was  magnificently  attired  in  all 
the  meagre  finery  he  could  call  into  service.  What 
he  lacked  in  attire  he  made  up  in  the  grooming. 
Billy  shone.  Billy  was  plastered.  Billy  smelled 
to  high  heaven  of  soap  and  kerosene.  But  there 
was  that  about  Billy  which  checked  Maggie's 
ribald  jeers,  and  the  mother's  question  as  to  where 
he  was  going. 

However,  Billy  was  magnanimous  in  his  power. 
He  turned  at  the  outer  door  and  satisfied  his  mother's 
curiosity. 

"Anything  you  want  sent  up  to  Joyce's?" 

"Joyce's?"   gasped   Maggie.     "Joyce's?" 

Billy  held  her  with  a  glance. 

"Joyce's,"  he  repeated.  Then  receiving  no  reply, 
he  went  out  into  the  still,  cold  night. 

Billy  felt  like  a  man  who  held  the  fortune  of 
many  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

Knowing  the  ways  of  St.  Ange  men  he  felt  sure 
the  letter  from  "  the  backwoodsman  "  to  Joyce  would 
be  several  days,  or  a  week,  in  materializing,  perhaps 
much  longer.  It  was  for  him  to  be  ready  and 
watchful;  but  there  was  no  immediate  call  for  action.. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       275 

His  sympathies  were  so  largely  aroused  for  Joyce, 
that  he  meant  to  overcome  his  yearning  to  be  with 
the  object  of  his  passion,  and  on  that  first  night  he 
intended  going  to  Gaston's  shack  and  setting  Joyce 
right  about  the  future  and  his  own  part  in  the  drama. 

Billy  realized  that  he  must  shield  himself.  Birk- 
dale  and  Lauzoon  must  never  know  of  his  presence 
in  the  hut.  Joyce,  Billy  felt  sure,  would  cooperate 
with  him.  If  he  and  she  could  find  Gaston,  all 
might  be  safe  and  well;  but  while  Gaston  was  absent, 
danger  lurked.  However,  Joyce  must  refuse  to 
meet  "the  backwoodsman";  after  that  they  two, 
Billy  and  Joyce,  must  find  a  path  that  connected 
Gaston  with  them,  and  make  him  secure  from  the 
plots  of  the  evil  Birkdale  and  the  weak,  foolish  Jude 
of  the  unerring  shot. 

All  this  Billy  thought  upon  as  he  strode  forward 
whistling  comfortably,  and  his  chest  swelling  proudly. 

It  was  one  thing  to  whistle  on  the  highway  of 
St.  Ange,  and  quite  another  to  whistle  in  the  wilds 
of  the  North  Solitude. 

Billy  was  full  of  creature  comfort,  and  the  scattered 
lights  of  the  houses  gave  cheer  and  a  feeling  of 
security  to  the  boy. 

The  Black  Cat's  twinkling  eyes  had  no  charm  for 
Billy.  They  were  never  to  have  a  charm  for  him; 
but  as  he  neared  the  bungalow  his  whistle  grow 
intermittent  and  his  legs  had  an  inclination  in  one 
direction  while  his  heart  sternly  bade  him  follow 


a8o       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

another.  Then,  without  really  being  aware  of  his 
weakness,  Billy  found  himself  knocking  on  the 
bungalow  door,  and  his  heart  thumped  wildly 
beneath  the  old  vest  of  his  father's  which  he  wore 
closely  buttoned  under  the  coat  he  had  painfully 
outgrown. 

In  response  to  his  knock,  the  wide,  hospitable  door 
was  flung  open,  and  Billy  faced  a  stranger  who  quite 
unnerved  him,  by  the  direct  and  pointed  question: 

"Why,  good  evening,  little  boy;  what  do  you 
want?" 

The  glow  from  within  set  Billy's  senses  in  a  mad 
whirl,  but  the  "little  boy"  was  like  a  dash  of  cold 
water  to  his  pride  and  egotism. 

"I  —  I — want — her!"  Poor  Billy  was  in  a 
lost  state. 

"It  is  —  I  do  believe  it  is  my  delectable  Billy." 

It  was  her  voice,  and  it  floated  down  to  the  boy 
at  the  gate  of  Paradise,  from  the  top  of  a  step-ladder. 
Halfway  up  the  ladder  Jock  Filmer  stood  with  his 
hands  full  of  greens  and  his  eyes  full  of  laughter. 

"Billy,  come  up  and  be  welcomed.  Get  down 
Jock,  you've  had  your  turn." 

His  turn!  A  fierce  hate  rose  in  Billy's  heart; 
but  the  stranger  closed  the  door  behind  him;  Aunt 
Sally  and  the  minister  were  saying  kind  things  to  him, 
and  informing  him  that  the  angel  who  had  admitted 
him  was  Mrs.  Dale,  the  Fairy  of  Christmas,  and  a 
great  admirer  of  little  boys. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       281 

Little  boys !     Were  they  bent  on  insulting  him  ? 

Jock  descended  with  that  laugh  of  his  that  always 
disturbed  Billy's  preconceived  ideas.  Then  Billy 
was  facing  Her  as  she  bent  to  meet  him  halfway. 

The  glad  smile  passed  slowly  from  Constance 
Drew's  face.  The  others,  below,  were  talking  and 
forgetting  the  two  upon  the  ladder. 

"  Why  —  Billy  —  have  you  —  been  sick  ?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Did  they  let  you  come  home  for  Christmas?" 

"No,  ma'am.     I  jest  cum." 

Constance  looked  long  at  him,  and  at  last  the 
laugh  was  gone  even  from  her  dear  eyes. 

"Billy,"  she  said  softly,  laying  her  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  "you've  been  keeping  your  word  to  me, 
about  swearing,  and  — and  all  the  rest?" 

"Yes'm." 

"It's  been  hard,  too,  dear,  I  know;  but  it  has 
made  you  into  something  —  better."  And  then  with 
a  shining  look  on  her  face  she  bent  and  kissed  him. 

The  heat  rushed  all  over  Billy's  body,  following 
a  cold  perspiration.  His  mouth  twitched,  and  a 
maddening  feeling  of  tears  rose  to  his  smarting  eyes. 

"  I'm  —  going  —  over  —  to  —  Hillcrest  school !" 
He  whispered  feebly,  "I'm  going — to  get — learnin', 
an*  things." 

"Oh!    Billy!" 

"Yes'm."  ' 

"Oh!  my  dear  Billy." 


282       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

But  such  moments  in  life  are  brief.  They  are  only 
permitted  as  propellers  for  all  the  other  plain 
moments  which  are  the  common  lot.  Billy  and 
Constance  came  down  from  the  heights  morally, 
spiritually  and  physically  and  joined  the  common- 
place things  below. 

There  was  corn  to  pop,  and  candy  to  make.  There 
were  boxes  to  unpack,  and  goodies  to  eat;  so  was 
it  any  wonder  that  Joyce  and  her  poor  affairs  should 
be  relegated  to  a  place  outside  this  Eden  ? 

Then,  too,  Jock  complicated  matters.  He  was 
shameless  in  his  mirth  and  jokes.  Even  the  stranger- 
lady  with  her  wonderful  aloofness  could  not  daunt 
him,  but  Billy  fiercely  resented  his  attentions  to  the 
girl  for  whom  he,  Billy,  had  forsaken  all  else. 

To  leave  the  field  to  Jock  was  beyond  the  strength 
of  mere  man,  so  they  stayed  it  out  together,  and  left 
the  bungalow  in  company  just  as  the  clock  struck 
twelve. 

It  was  then  that  the  events  of  the  past  forty-eight 
hours  began  most  to  tell  upon  Billy.  His  exhausted 
nerves  played  him  false,  and  cried  out  their  desperate 
state. 

As  he  and  Jock  left  the  warm,  scented  room  behind 
them,  and  faced  the  white,  still  cold  of  an  apparently 
dead  St.  Ange,  the  boy  turned  a  drawn  face  upon 
Jock,  and  cried  tremblingly,  "Say,  you  better-^ 
keep — yer — hands  —  off!"  Jock  stood  still,  and 
returned  Billy's  agonized  stare  with  one  equally  grim. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       283 

"I've  just  reached  that  conclusion  myself,  Billy," 
he  said,  with  every  trace  of  his  past  mirth  gone. 

Billy  was  hoisted  on  his  own  petard. 

Hatred  fled  before  the  sympathy  he  felt  flowing 
from  Jock  to  him.  He  wanted  to  cry;  wanted  to 
fling  himself  upon  his  companion  and  "own  up," 
but  Jock  anticipated  all  his  emotions. 

"See  here,  kid,"  he  said  in  a  voice  new  to  St. 
Ange's  knowledge  of  Jock;  "you're  not  the  fellow 
to  grudge  a  poor  devil  an  hour  or  so  of  heaven. 
There's  the  hope  of  an  eternity  of  it  for  you;  but  for 
me  there's  going  to  be  only  —  the  memory  of  this 
hour.  Shake  hands,  old  man,  and  take  this  from 
me,  straight.  Keep  yourself  fit  to  touch.  Lay  hold 
of  that  and  never  let  go.  The  more  you  care,  the 
more  you'll  curse  yourself,  if  you  don't.  It's  the 
only  decent  offering  a  man  can  take  to  a  woman. 
Everything  else  he  can  hope  to  gain  afterward. 
A  place  for  her,  money,  and  all  the  rest;  but  if  he 
goes  to  her  with  dirty  hands  and  a  heart  full  of  shame, 
nothing  can  make  up  for  it  —  nothing! 

"  Billy  —  I'd  give  you  all  I  ever  hoped  to  have 
here  or  hereafter  if  I  could  begin  to-night  where 
you  are  —  and  with  the  power  to  want  to  keep 
straight." 

Billy  shivered  and  looked  dumbly,  pathetically 
into  the  sad  face  above  him.  He  had  nothing  to 
say.  When  Jock  next  spoke  he  was  more  like 
himself. 


284       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Billy,  will  you  see  to  a  little  business  for  me, 
and  keep  mum  ?" 

This  was  quite  in  the  line  of  the  over-burdened 
Billy,  and  he  accepted  off-hand. 

"I  may  —  go  —  into  camp  before  Christmas." 

"Don't  yer!"  advised  the  boy  magnanimously. 
"I  ain't  ever  going  to  care  again.  You  can  stay 
here."  Jock  forbore  to  smile,  but  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Billy's  shoulder. 

"There's  two  big  stacks  of  young  pine  trees  up 
to  my  shack  done  round  in  bagging  and  ticketed 
to  a  place  down  the  State.  They're  Christmas 
trees  for  poor  kids,  and  I  want  you  to  see  to  getting 
them  off  for  me  to-morrow  or  next  day,  and  if  Tom 
Smith  airs  any  remarks,  you  let  on  as  how  they 
hailed  from  the  bungalow;  for  that's  God's  truth, 
when  all's  told." 

"They'll  go,  Jock,  you  bet!"  Billy  gulped. 

Curiosity  was  dead  within  him.  Human  suffering 
gave  him  an  insight  that  soared  above  idle  question- 
ing. 

"And  Billy,  there's  another  thing.  I  want  you 
to  go  to  Gaston's  shack;  tote  water  and  wood  for 
Joyce  —  and  keep  your  mouth  shut.  And  lay  this 
by  in  your  constitution.  Gaston  is  a  man  so  far 
above  anything  God  ever  created  round  here,  that 
you  can't  understand  him,  but  you  can  try  to 
chase  off  the  dirty  insects  that  want  to  sting  him. 
Catch  on?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   285 

"Yes";  murmured  Billy,  while  unfulfilled  duty 
clutched  his  vitals  with  remorse. 

"I'm  -  —  I'm  going  up  to  Gaston's  to-morrow," 
he  said. 

"And   now,  you  old   rip,"  Filmer  shook  off  his 
strange  mood,  "walk  up  to  a  fellow's  bunk  with  him. 
It's  good  to  keep  clean  company  when  you  can  - 
and  for  as  long  as  you  can." 

"Shall  —  shall  I  stay  all  night  with  you  ?" 

Billy  asked  this  doubtfully  from  the  new  instinct 
that  was  stirring  within  him.  For  an  instant  a 
gleam  of  pleasure  lighted  Filmer's  face.  It  almost 
seemed  like  a  yearning,  then  he  said  roughly: 

"No,  get  home!  You're  afraid?  If  you  are 
I'll  turn  back." 

"What  you  take  me  for  ?"  Billy  sniffed  scornfully, 
and  then  they  parted  company. 

It  was  just  when  the  hands  of  the  clock  in  Drew's 
study  pointed  to  half-past  twelve,  that  the  young 
master,  sitting  before  the  glowing  logs,  bestirred 
himself  preparatory  to  turning  in  for  the  night. 

A  satisfied  feeling  had  kept  him  up  after  the  others 
had  bade  good  night.  He  always  enjoyed  the  anti- 
climax of  pleasure,  and  the  day  had  been  a  happy 
one. 

He  felt  well.  The  companionship  of  the  widowed 
wife  of  his  closest  friend,  added  interest  to  the  new 
life  in  the  woods.  She  had  brought  news  and  had 


286      JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

awakened  memories,  but  she  had  timed  the  Past 
and  the  Present  to  perfect  measure.  At  last  he  could 
hope  that  the  old  wound  was  healed  and  that  he 
could  live  among  his  people  —  his  people !  the  thought 
thrilled  him  —  with  purpose  and  content.  The 
rough  men  and  women  about  him  were  drawing 
closer.  He  knew  it  in  the  innermost  places  of  his 
heart.  He  was  brightening  their  lives.  He  was 
holding  their  children  for  them,  and  opening  a  way 
for  them  to  seek  higher  paths.  It  would  all  come 
out  as  he  desired.  It  was  a  splendid  field  of  work 
that  had  been  given  him  —  and  he  had  rebelkd  so 
in  his  ignorance! 

How  he  wished  that  Philip  Dale  could  have  lived  to 
see  and  know.  Of  all  the  men  whom  he  had  known, 
Dale  was  the  one  man  who  could  have  comprehended 
this  opening  for  service.  What  a  noble  fellow  he 
had  been!  How  his  personality  and  charm  struck 
one  at  the  first  glance.  He  had  been  one  of  those 
men  who  claimed  friends  as  they  came  his  way, 
without  pledge  of  time  or  intimacy.  He  knew  what 
was  his  own  in  life,  and  gripped  it  without  question 
or  explanation.  He  had  been  the  first  to  under- 
stand Drew's  ambition,  so  different  from  the  ones 
of  the  social  set  in  which  they  both  moved. 

"You'll  always  find  me  at  your  elbow,  Drew," 
he  had  said,  "in  any  scheme  you  start."  But  when 
the  time  came  —  Dale  had  slipped  out  of  life 
as  bravely  and  cheerfully  as  he  had  always  lived. 


287 

"And  he  had  his  own  deep  trouble,"  Drew  mused 
as  he  prepared  to  bank  the  fire;  "he  never  talked 
about  it;  but  it  made  him  what  he  was.  One  must 
go  through  some  sort  of  fire  to  be  of  real  service." 

A  light  tap  on  t*~e  door  startled  him.  He  had 
been,  in  thought,  far,  far  from  St.  Ange. 

"Come!" 

The  door  opened  slowly  and  Ruth  Dale  entered. 

She  was  all  in  white  —  a  soft,  long,  trailing  gown. 
Her  hair  had  been  loosened  from  the  coronet,  and 
fell  in  two  shining  braids  over  her  shoulders.  She 
looked  very  girlish  as  she  came  to  the  fire  and 
dropped  into  a  deep  chair. 

"Please  put  on  more  logs,"  she  said  softly. 
"Father  Confessor,  Pve  come  to  confess."  There 
was  something  under  the  playfulness  that  touched 
Drew.  "I  told  Connie  that  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you 
about  a  plan  of  mine;  well,  so  it  is,  but  I  want  you 
to  put  the  stamp  of  your  sage  approval  upon  it." 

Drew  shook  his  head. 

"Hardly  that,"  he  said  with  a  laugh,  "but  I'm 
willing  to  plot  with  you." 

"  I  always  think  of  you  now,"  Ruth  Dale  continued, 
leaning  toward  the  crackling  logs,  and  holding  her 
little  benumbed  hands  open  to  the  heat,  "as  'the 
man  who  lives  in  his  house  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
and  is  a  friend  to  man'.  Ralph,  I  need  a  friend! 
I  ynust  have  one  or  I  shall  fail  in  that  which  I  have 
set  myself  to  do." 


288       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

There  was  no  lightness  in  the  woman's  manner 
now.  She  looked  tragic;  almost  desperate. 

Ralph  Drew  waited  for  her  to  go  on.  He  was 
prepared  to  follow,  but  he  could  not  lead. 

Her  youthfulness  of  appearance  struck  him  now 
as  it  often  had  before;  but  the  worn  look  in  the  eyes 
emphasized  it  to-night. 

"You  look  tired,  Ruth,"  he  said  kindly;  "won't 
to-morrow  —  or" — for  he  saw  it  was  well  on 
toward  one  o'clock — "later  in  the  day  do?" 

"Unless  you  are  too  weary  to  bide  with  me  one 
little  hour?"  she  replied  .vistfully;  "it  had  better 
be  now." 

"You  know  what  an  owl  I  am,  Ruth.  With 
returning  health  my  old  habits  seem  to  gain  strength. 
I  sleep  more  satisfactorily  if  I  do  it  after  midnight." 
He  settled  back  comfortably  in  his  chair,  and  the 
fire,  encouraged  by  several  small  logs,  rose  to  the 
occasion. 

"I've    been    thinking    about  —  Philip    to-night." 

"Poor  girl.  It  was  a  year  ago!  To  remember 
Phil  best,  we  should  be  cheerful,  but  the  subcon- 
scious sadness  ran  through  all  the  evening's  fun  for 
you  —  and  me,  Ruth." 

"  Yes.  Ralph,  you  only  knew  Phil  a  few  years  — 
never  before  he  was  married?" 

"No,  but  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  do  not 
belong  to  time  limit  nor  letters  of  introduction.  His 
own  knew  him  at  a  glance.  There  was  no  time  to 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       289 

be  lost  with  Phil.  I've  often  noticed  that  faculty 
for  deep  and  ready  friendship  among  people  who 
are  here  for  only  a  short  life.  Others  can  afford  to 
weigh  and  consider;  they  must  garner  quickly, 
and  the  Master  seems  to  have  equipped  them.'* 

"  Ralph,  was  Phil  a  man  that  you  felt  you  knew, 
really  knew,  I  mean?" 

"Yes;  as  to  essentials.  I  never  saw  any  one  so 
positive  as  to  the  high  lights.  Honesty,  truth, 
good  faith,  and  a  broad  humanity.  I  always  knew 
he  had  trouble  that  he  did  not  talk  about;  he  hinted 
that  much  to  me  once  or  twice,  but  the  silence  regard- 
ing it  only  intensified  his  own  personality,  of  which 
he  gave  lavishly." 

The  woman  bending  toward  the  fire,  shivered, 
and  as  her  head  sank  lower,  one  shining  braid  of 
hair  dropped  forward,  shielding  her  face. 

"  Ralph  —  I  sometimes  think  the  thing  I  have 
to  do  is  the  —  hardest  that  ever  woman  had  to  do." 
The  words  were  uttered  with  a  moan  that  drove 
Drew  into  a  silence  more  eloquent  than  any  question 
he  could  have  put.  He  realized  that  the  woman 
beside  him  must  tread  the  rough  path  of  confession 
alone,  and  as  she  could.  In  his  heart  he  prayed 
for  strength  to  be  beside  her  when  all  was  done. 

"If  ever  a  sin  saved,  Philip's  sin  saved  him,  and 
yet  he  counted  it  as  nothing  at  the  last.  He  bade 
me  do  for  him  what  he  could  not  do  for  himself  — • 
I  have  never  been  able  to  begin  until  —  to-night. 


290       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

He  said  —  he  had  no  right  to  friends  nor  the  trust 
and  favour  of  love.  But  he  never  was  able  to 
renounce  them;  I  must  strike  them  down  one  by  one 
—  now  he  is  gone. 

"I  must  do  as  he  would  have  me  do — I  see  the 
justice,  if  the  end  is  to  be  obtained,  but  thank  God, 
I,  who  loved  him  —  can  still  love  him  —  and  he 
has  been  dead  a  year! " 

The  pain-racked  eyes  looked  straight  into  Drew's 
with  a  sort  of  challenge.  But  Drew  was  too  sincere 
a  man  to  give,  even  to  friendship,  a  blind  comfort  and 
assurance.  He  merely  smiled  at  the  troubled  glance, 
and  said  quietly: 

"I  am  sure  where  you  loved,  there  was  much  to 
love." 

"Yes;  yes;  that  is  true;  and  I  begin  to  think  the 
nobility  of  it  all  lay  in  his  unconsciousness  of  the 
splendid  character  he  builded  so  patiently  and 
laboriously  out  of  all  the  wreck. 

"Philip  had  a  brother,  Ralph!  His  name  was 
never  spoken.  He  was  two  years  older  than  Philip, 
and  as  different  as  it  was  possible  for  a  brother  to  be. 

"  John  was  all  strength  and  concentration;  Philip 
all  brightness  and  charm  —  in  the  beginning!  Their 
mother  adored  Philip;  she  never  understood  John, 
and  yet  he  was  a  good  son,  brave  and  faithful.  But 
he  could  not  show  his  nature  —  it  lay  so  far  belov* 
the  surface.  It  was  always  easy  for  Philip.  His 
charm  attracted  nearly  everyone.  My  father  *»« 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   291 

always  liked  John  better.  He  said  there  was  splen- 
did power  in  him,  and  —  I  must  keep  nothing  from 
you,  Ralph  —  I  loved  John  —  loved  him,  oh !  how 
I  loved  him.  I  pitied  him  because  he  could  not  win 
what  should  have  been  his  —  I  loved  him  for  myself, 
and  for  all  the  others  who  were  too  dull  to  realize 
his  worth.  It  was  like  mother  love  and  all  the  rest, 
in  one." 

"Yes;  the  most  God-like  love  of  all.  Only  women 
know  it,  I  fancy/'  Drew  murmured. 

"And  then";  the  agonized  eyes  seemed  to  plead 
even  while  they  confessed,  "then  the  awful  thing 
happened.  John  took  —  he  stole  many  thousands 
of  dollars  from  men  who  trusted  and  honoured  him." 

"Ruth!" 

"I  could  never  have  believed  it,  but  he  told 
me  so  himself.  To  the  day  of  his  death  my  father 
believed  the  half  had  never  been  told,  but  how  could 
I  think  that,  when  John  told  me  himself  that  he 
was  guilty  ?  Father  was  a  judge  —  he  was  to 
have  been  the  judge  before  whom  John  Dale  was 
tried,  but  they  >  relieved  him  of  that  horrible  duty. 
John  Dale  was  sentenced  to  five  years  —  in  prison ! 
They  said  it  was  a  light  sentence." 

"My  God!  Poor  Phil!  How  terrible  for  you 
all!" 

"Don't!  don't!"  Ruth  Dale  put  out  her  hands 
as  if  warding  off  a  blow.  "  Haven't  you  guessed  ? 
Can  you  not  think  ?" 


292        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Drew  shook  his  head  slowly.  He  did  not  seem 
to  be  able  to  think  at  all. 

"Mrs.  Dale  died  soon  after.  She  had  a  weak 
heart  —  it  killed  her.  Philip  was  everything  to 
her  —  he  was  heavenly  good  in  his  attention  and 
devotion.  Somehow,  I  wonder  what  you  will  think 
of  me,  but  suddenly  I  became  possessed  with  a 
passion  for  making  happier  them  whom  John  had 
blighted.  I  grappled  with  my  own  love  —  I  knew 
it  would  kill  me  if  I  let  it  gain  power  over  me.  I 
knew  I  never  could  be  anything  to  John  —  I  was 
not  the  sort  of  woman,  Ralph,  who  could  love  the 
sinner  —  forgetting  the  sin.  I  could  forgive  —  I 
thought  I  could  —  but  I  remembered  all  the  more 
sharply. 

"Philip  had  always  loved  me.  I  saw  my  way. 
I  would  ignore  the  stigma  on  the  ^family,  I  would 
marry  Philip  and  carry  what  joy  I  could  to  him  and 
his  mother.  My  father  tried  to  restrain  me.  He 
called  me  martyr,  sacrifice,  and  all  the  rest,  but 
I  married  —  and  I  know  I  took  comfort  into  poor 
Mrs.  Dale's  life,  and  —  I  never  doubted  what  I  did 
for  Philip.  But  — "  Ruth  whispered  the  horrible 
secret  —  "John  Dale  took  the  money  for  —  Philip! 
He  never  wanted  it  for  himself.  He  never  used  one 
dollar  of  it.  It  was  Philip  who  ran  the  family 
honour,  and  his  own,  into  danger — he  made  it 
seem  to  John  that  to  tide  him  over  the  critical 
hour  would  be  to  save  them  all  and  bring  no 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH   WOODS        293 

harm.  But  he  was  wrong.  The  crash  came. 
John  never  cringed  under  the  blow.  To  his  simple 
nature  the  mere  act  was  enough.  He  did  not  try 
to  shield  himself  by  one  word  of  explanation  —  he 
went  away!" 

Drew's  throat  and  eyes  burned.  He  seemed  to 
know  all  this  like  an  oft-told  tale  that  still  had  power 
to  awe  and  control  him. 

"Then  the  years  of  agonized  consecration  began 
for  Philip.  I  never  knew  until  a  week  before  his 
death,  but  the  memory  scorches  into  my  soul  day 
by  day  now. 

"You  see  I  thought  it  was  love  for  his  brother, 
and  the  shame,  that  had  changed  Philip  —  and 
that  endeared  him  to  me.  All  the  lightness  and 
carelessness  of  manner  departed.  A  great,  strong, 
tenderness  took  their  place.  But  you  know,  it  was 
so  that  he  came  into  your  life.  He  had  a  wide  sym- 
pathy and  charity,  for  all  —  oh !  how  it  drew  people 
to  him.  But  think  of  his  suffering  —  alone  and 
through  all  those  years ! 

"The  money  that  was  John's  ruin  was  the  force 
that  brought  success  to  Philip.  You  see  —  he 
could  not  explain  —  at  least  he  thought  he  could  not, 
he  was  too  cowardly — and  the  knowledge  spurred 
him  on.  Wealth  ftowed  in  and  in.  He  paid,  and 
with  interest,  all  that  had  been  taken.  How  the 
world  praised  him  —  and  how  he  suffered  as  they 
applauded  him!  He  gave  great  sums  to  charity 


294       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

—  mostly  to  those  charities  that  mitigate  the  misery 
of  —  the   outcasts.     Men    and    women    who    come 
under  the  law.     Can  you  understand  ?" 

"Yes!  yes!"  Drew's  head  was  buried  in  his 
thin  hands.  His  voice  was  full  of  anguish. 

"They  used  to  come  to  him,  those  sad  creatures, 

—  and  he  never  turned  them  away.     I  have  seen 
and  heard  them  bless  him  as  they  knelt  beside  him. 
He  helped  them  so  wisely  because  —  oh !  because  he 
was  —  one  of  them,  and  they  never  knew !    Then 
the  disease  came  —  the  cancer.     I  think  he  welcomed 
it  —  it  was  so  sure  to  open  the  door  for  him  —  and 
I  think  he  even  loved  the  suffering  as  a  kind  of 
expiation. 

"Never  once  did  a  murmur  escape  him  of  impa- 
tience or  regret.  It  was  he  who  cheered  us.  It 
was  he  who  stood  by  my  father's  death-bed  and 
comforted  him,  and  strengthened  me.  Always 
cheerful,  always  helpful  until  —  just  before  he  went. 
When  he  knew  the  days  were  few  —  when  the 
coward  in  him  —  his  last  enemy  —  died,  he  told  me 
everything. 

"He  said — "  a  sob  choked  the  words  —  "that 
I  must  find — John.  I  must  lay  waste  the  beautiful 
memory  of  him.  Show  the  coward  who  had  not  been 
able  to  stand  before  men !  I  must  redeem  the  past  as 
best  I  could.  I  must  begin  with  you  —  the  friend 
he  most  loved  —  for  you  must  help  me  find  —  John." 

Ralph  Drew  rose  weakly  to  his  feet.     Something 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        295 

had  gone  out  of  him.  Something  that  he  groped 
after,  but  could  not  grasp.  He  felt  as  if  he  and  the 
stricken  woman  before  him  were  lost  upon  a  black 
and  dangerous  road.  Their  only  salvation  was  to 
cling  together  spiritually  and  bodily.  He  caught 
the  back  of  her  chair  for  support,  and  bent  over  her. 

"Is  there  no  one,  who  kept  in  touch  with  — the 
brother  ?  Was  he  utterly  forsaken  ?  God  help 
him!" 

"They  said  it  was  his  desire.  But  there  was  one 
—  I  never  knew  who  it  was;  that  was  part  of  the 
mystery  —  but  some  one  claimed  and  claimed  money 
for  him,  for  John.  I  knew  sums  of  money  were 
paid  regularly,  I  used  to  think  it  was  another  of 
Philip's  charities  —  but  I  know  now  that  there  was 
a  constant  lash  laid  upon  him.  Oh!  if  they  had 
only  known  all. 

"Ralph,  Philip  left  nearly  all  his  fortune  to  his 
brother.  There  is  only  my  portion  reserved  for 
me.  So  you  see  I  must  find  him.  I  was  left  sole 
executor." 

"I  will  help  you,  Ruth." 

"I  was  sure  you  would.  Philip  spoke  your  name 
last;  he  said  you  could  see  the  man  he  tried  to  be, 
even  in  the  man  he  was." 

"Yes!  yes,  a  thousand  times  more  than  he  ever 
hoped.  What  was  the  poor  crumbling  shell  com- 
pared to  the  splendid  soul  that  he  builded  through 
those  horrible  years  ?  Years  when  he  could  not 


296       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

quite  free  himself  from  the  craven  thing  that  was  his 
curse  —  the  fear!  fear!  fear!'* 

The  two  were  silent  for  a  moment  while  the  red 
glow  showed  them  haggard  and  worn.  Then  it 
was  the  woman  who  spoke. 

"  Ralph  —  do  you  think  a  woman  can  love  — 
really  love  —  two  men  ?" 

He  stared  at  her. 

"Perhaps,"  he  faltered;  "perhaps,  but  in  different 
ways." 

"I  loved  them  both.  When  — when  I  find  John 
—  if  he  wants  me  —  if  he  asks  me  —  I  shall  marry 
him."  She  shuddered. 

"Ruth!" 

"Yes;  I  think  Philip  would  give  him  even  —  me. 
His  renunciation  was  wide  and  deep.  He,  the  great, 
strong  soul  of  him,  went  on  —  alone.  It  had  no 
real  part  with  his  weakness  and  all  that  was  bound 
up  in  his  weakness  —  he  wanted  John  to  have 
everything  of  which  he  had  deprived  him.  You 
can  understand,  can  you  not  ?  At  the  last,  when 
fear  had  no  further  power,  he  was  almost  mad 
in  his  abandon  of  recompense. 

"He  did  not  tell  me  this,  that  awful  night  when 
he  told  me  —  the  rest;  but  I  felt  it.  I  saw  that  I, 
with  all  else  that  had  meant  anything  to  him,  was 
included  in  his  shame;  and  the  new  nature  that 
had  evolved  from  the  agony  and  remorse  —  had 
nothing  to  do  with  us  any  more!" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   297 

A  deep  sob  shook  the  slim  form.  For  a  moment 
Ruth  Dale  rocked  to  and  fro  in  her  misery,  then  she 
let  the  wild  confession  again  have  its  way. 

"For  myself-  '  the  haunted  eyes  fixed  them- 
selves upon  Drew's  rigid  face  —  "  for  myself  —  in 
a  strange  fashion  —  and  oh !  you  shall  not  misunder- 
stand me,  I  want  to  give  to  him  that  which  I  withheld 
from  him  when  he  needed  it  most.  I  want  to  bring 
back  the  gladness  of  life  to  him  —  if  I  can,"  she 
gasped;  "it  has  all  been  such  a  hideous  nightmare. 
If  he  wants  me  —  if  he  wants  me,  he  shall  have  me !" 
The  words  were  flung  out  defiantly,  fiercely. 

Drew  started  to  his  feet,  and  went  quickly  to  her. 
In  all  his  life  he  had  never  seen  on  a  woman's  face 
such  desperation  and  remorse. 

As  his  friend's  wife  he  had  loved  her  as  a  sister. 
Her  beauty  had  always  fascinated  and  charmed 
him.  To  see  her  now,  cast  adrift  on  this  troubled 
sea  of  love  and  fear,  was  a  bitter,  almost  a  terrifying 
sight. 

He  bent  over  her,  and  raised  her  face  firmly  and 
gently  with  one  trembling  hand.  He  felt  that  he 
must  calm  and  steady  her  by  physical  control. 

"Ruth,"  he  said  gently,  but  distinctly,  "why  do 
you  look  as  you  do  ?  Tell  me,  what  is  in  your  heart  ? " 

The  woman  tried  to  shrink  from  the  hold  he  had 
upon  her.  He  saw  that  the  vital  point  of  her  con- 
fession she  would  keep  from  him  unless  he  com- 
manded, and,  if  the  future  were  to  be  saved  from 


298        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

the  grip  of  the  miserable  past,  he  and  she  must 
thoroughly  understand  each  other. 

"Ruth,  you  must  tell  me  everything." 

She  panted,  but  no  longer  struggled  mentally  or 
bodily. 

"Because,"  she  said,  "even  now,  I  could  accept 
the  man  who  was  the  true  sinner  easier  than  the 
man  who  was  sinned  against!  Not  because  of  a 
greater  love;  but  because  of  the  slime  of  the  punish- 
ment that  the  one  was  doomed  to  suffer. 

"That's  what  life  has  done  for  him  —  and  me!" 
Again  she  shuddered.  "Don't  you  see,  even  when 
my  heart  is  breaking  with  love  for  him  —  and  the 
old  love  is  growing  stronger  as  —  as  Philip  seems 
to  be  going  further  from  me  —  I  shall  always  think 
of  the  hideous  —  detail  that  —  he  suffered.  It  was 
what  Philip  could  not  face  — it  is  what  I  —  must!" 

The  words  came  pantingly,  grudgingly  and  full 
of  soul-terror. 

Drew  sought  for  comfort  to  give  to  this  poor, 
distracted  woman  whose  white,  still  face  rested  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand,  like  a  dead  thing. 

"  Ruth,  you  shall  not  lash  yourself  unnecessarily. 
God  knows  you  have  borne  the  scourge  of  others 
bravely  enough.  It  is  not  the  detail  alone  that 
rises  before  you,  and  keeps  you  from  what  you 
have  set  up  as  your  duty  —  it  is  the  weakness  of  the 
man.  That  is  the  pitiful  difference.  The  sin  is  the 
sin  —  but  the  man  who  planned  was  more  the  master. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       299 

than  he  who  became  the  slave.  Do  not  blame  your- 
self entirely  —  can  you  not  see,  it  is  the  instinctive 
homage  humanity  pays  to  even  an  evil  interpretation 
of  the  Creator!" 

A  blur,  for  an  instant,  shimmered  over  the  beauti- 
ful, solemn  eyes. 

"  No."  The  woman  would  not  shield  herself  in  this 
hour.  "No;  for  you  forget  Philip's  cowardice  — 
and  weakness.  But  he  was  not  —  smirched  with 
society's  remedy  for  wrong-doing.  No;  even  if  I 
found  John  had  come  out  of  the  —  the  detail,  strong 
and  purified,  I  know,  as  God  hears  me,  I  should 
always,  when  most  he  needed  me,  see  the  prisoner 
instead  of  — him.  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  the  great  tears 
were  pressed  from  under  the  quivering  lids. 

Drew  for  very  pity  released  the  suffering  face,  but 
his  hand  rested  on  the  bent  shoulder.  Then  out 
of  the  strain  of  the  black  hour,  he  asked  a  question 
that  seemed  to  have  no  part  in  the  present  trouble; 
no  meaning. 

"Ruth  have  you  ever  loved  just  for  yourself  — 
just  because  you  wanted  what  you  loved  ?" 

"Just  for  myself?  Who  ever  does  in  this  world, 
I  wonder?" 

She  sighed  deeply,  and  sank  back  in  the  chair. 

It  was  over  at  last.  There  was  nothing  now  to 
do  but  to  take  up  her  cross  and  follow  as  she  could; 
there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 


300        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Drew  waited  for  her  a  moment,  still  standing 
behind  the  chair.  Then  he  spoke  clearly  and  firmly: 

"Ruth,  in  Phil's  going  he  left  our  love  to  us;  for 
we  are  permitted  to  remember  the  splendid  man 
in  spite  of  the  weakness  which  crippled  him. 
We  must  carry  out  every  wish  of  his.  I  think 
when  this  is  done  —  his  brave  soul  will  be  free  from 
every  earthly  stain.  The  good  he  did;  the  man  he 
was,  must  claim  recognition  as  well  as  the  sin  that 
stamped  him.  Both  are  actual  and  real. 

"  We'll  find  John  Dale  if  he  is  to  be  found.  We'll 
give  him  all  that  is  his  own  —  his  own.  But  I  pray 
God  he  is  still  man  enough  to  claim  no  more. 

"And  now,  go  to  bed.  You  may  sleep  safely, 
for  you  have  made  yourself  ready  even  for  —  sacri- 
fice." 

"No!    no!    Ralph." 

"Yes!   yes!" 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  study,  and  with  bowed 
head  she  passed  out.  Then  Drew  turned  and 
mechanically  banked  the  fire,  and  left  the  room 
orderly,  as  was  his  habit. 

As  he  followed  a  few  moments  later,  the  little 
clock  struck  the  half-hour  of  one.  Much  had  been 
lost  and  gained  in  an  hour's  time. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BILLY  arose  the  morning  after  his  eventful 
evening,  with  a  feeling  of  physical  dis- 
comfort. He  attributed  it  to  his  neglected 
duty,  when  in  reality  it  was  merely  a  disordered 
stomach. 

The  past  day  or  two,  ending  in  a  feast  of  unwonted 
dainties,  had  created  havoc  with  Billy's  newly 
acquired,  higher  nature. 

He  was  sulkily  belligerent  with  Maggie,  but 
Maggie  viewed  the  lapse  with  considerable  relief. 
Billy  of  the  night  before  awed  her  in  spite  of  herself. 
Billy  of  the  morning  after  cast  no  reflections  on  her 
own  inferiority. 

Poor  Peggy  wondered,  in  her  dull  way,  if  she  had 
been  dreaming  the  astonishing  things  that  had  set 
her  heart  beating.  To  reassure  herself  she  took 
a  candle  and  went  out  to  the  wood-shed.  No; 
there,  in  the  dim  shadows  of  the  cobwebby  place, 
was  the  stanza  that  was  proof  of  her  son's  genius. 
Then  Peggy  reflected  with  a  glad  heart  that  it  was 
the  accepted  belief  of  the  world  that  geniuses  were 
always  cranky  and  uncomfortable,  and,  woman- 
like, Peggy  gave  thanks  that  it  was  permitted  her 
to  have  a  genius  for  her  own. 


302        JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS 

Soon  after  breakfast  Billy  began  his  life  work 
with  a  dull  pain  in  the  region  of  his  heart. 

He  went  up  to  Filmer's  shack  and  found  him  out; 
he  then  hauled  and  pulled  the  tagged  bundles  of 
pine  trees,  which  Jock  had  left  standing  by  the  door, 
down  to  the  Station. 

"What  in  the  name" — Tom  Smith  paused  to 
expectorate  —  "of  all,"  (it  is  needless  to  enumerate 
the  name  of  the  gods  by  which  Tom  swore)  "yer 
doing  with  them  sapling  pines?" 

"Mind  yer  business,"  Billy  returned,  panting 
under  the  last  load.  "Put  'em  on  the  train;  that's 
you're  lookout;  and  here's  the  money  to  pay  for  their 
ticket  down  State."  Billy  had  found  the  money  in 
an  envelope  tied  to  the  trees. 

"Well,  I'll  — be  — blowed."  Tom  spelled  out 
the  address  and  took  the  money. 

"Where  does  these  hail  from  ?"  he  asked. 

"  From  the  bungalow,"  Billy  replied  with  unlooked- 
for  promptness. 

Tom  had  nothing  more  to  say.  The  bungalow 
people  had  the  right  of  way  on  the  branch  road.  To 
and  from  the  Junction  the  name  of  Drew  was  one 
to  conjure  with. 

"  I  guess,"  Tom  spat  wide  and  far,  "  I  guess  she's 
aiming  to  decorate  the  hull  blamed  town,  back  there, 
with  greens.  She  don't  mind  slashing,  she  don't." 

"Shut  up!"  Billy  commanded.  Tom  turned  to 
look  at  the  boy,  who  in  the  recent  past  had  been 


his  legitimate  property,  in  common  with  others,  to 
kick  and  swear  at. 

"  Well  by  -  But  he  neither  kicked  nor  swore 
at  Billy.  He  relieved  himself  by  expressing  his 
feelings  to  inanimate  objects. 

Then  Billy  went  up  to  the  tavern.  The  dull  pain 
was  relaxing.  The  fine,  cold  air  was  clearing  his 
muddled  wits,  and  he  felt  the  milk  of  human 
kindness  reasserting  itself  in  his  new-born  nature. 

"Mr.  Tate,"  he  asked  boldly,  stepping  behind 
the  screen  to  the  men's  side.  "Any  letters  here 
for  Joyce  ?" 

Tate,  bending  over  a  cask  of  beer,  raised  himself, 
and  gave  Billy  the  compliment  of  a  long,  hard 
stare. 

"Your  voice  changing,  Billy?"  he  asked  blandly. 
"Gosh!  you've  growed  up  terrible  suddint,  What 
you  doing  home  in  the  middle  of  the  season?" 

"Got — sick,"  Billy  muttered  quite  truthfully. 
"Any  letters  for  Joyce  ?" 

"I  don't  keep  letters  on  this  side,  son." 

Tate  felt  compelled  to  cater  to  what  he  recognized 
in  Billy.  "And  whoever  heard  of  Joyce  having 
letters  ?  If  you  mean  Gaston's  mail  she's  sent  for, 
then  I  reply  straight  and  honest,  and  you  can  tell 
her  —  I  know  my  business ! 

"  When  Gaston  calls  for  his  mail,  he  gets  it.  When 
he  wants  Joyce  to  have  it  —  he's  got  to  send 
order  for  same.  The  Government  down  to  Wash- 


304        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

ington,  D.C.,  knowed  who  it  was  selecting  when  it 
chose  Leon  Tate  for  Postmaster. 

"Billy,  you've  changed  more  in  a  few  months 
than  any  one  I  ever  seed.  You—  '  he  hesitated, 
and  grinned  foolishly  —  "you  feel  —  like  a  drink 
o'  anything  ?" 

The  subtle  compliment  to  his  manhood  thrilled 
Billy;  but  oh !  if  Tate  had  only  known  to  what  that 
manhood  was  due. 

"No,  thank  you,"  Billy  replied,  pulling  his  trousers 
up  ecstatically.  "I  don't  want  nothing  to  drink  — • 
to-day.  But  won't  you  please  look  and  see  if  there 
ain't  a  letter  for  Joyce — with  her  name  to  it?" 

Tate  walked  around  the  screen,  follo%ved  by  Billy, 
and  began  fumbling  in  the  row  of  slits  that  answered 
for  letter-boxes. 

"Bet  she's  expecting  word  from  Gaston." 

Tate  moistened  his  dirty  fingers,  and  shuffled  the 
envelopes. 

"  Here's  five  or  six  for  Gaston  hisself  —  one  done 
up  with  a  broad  streak  of  black  round  it.  It's  got 
a  dreadful  thick  envelope!  Well,  if  I  ain't  blowed. 
Here  is  one  for  Joyce,  and  did  you  ever  ?"  Billy  was 
beside  him  now.  "  Done  in  printing.  Well,  if  that 
don't  beat  the  Injuns.  Mis'  Joyce  Lauzoon  —  that's 
good,  Lauzoon !  No  wonder  it  didn't  strike  me  first; 
I  guess  I  read  it  Jude  Lauzoon.  Here,  you  want 
to  tote  it  up  the  hill  ?  Shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was 
from  Jude.  If  he's  got  over  his  sulks,  and  finds  no 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       305 

one  to  do  for  him,  it's  just  like  him  to  wheedle  his 
woman  into  coming  back  and  —  beginning  all 
over." 

Billy  had  grasped  the  letter  with  trembling  hands. 
He  was  breathing  short  and  hard.  Jared  had  evi- 
dently written  the  letter  before  talking  to  Jude. 

"'Do  you  know  who  that's  from  ?"  Tate  eyed  the 
boy  suspiciously. 

"How  should  I  ?"  Billy  impudently  turned  away, 
"/  ain't  Postmaster,  am  I?" 

Tate  glared  after  the  fleeing  figure.  He  did  not 
like  the  sense  of  insecurity  that  pervaded  St.  Ange. 
If  coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before,  then 
Tate's  future  looked  as  if  it  might  be  one  encom- 
passed by  darkness. 

When  Billy  reached  Gaston's  shack  a  silence  of 
desolation  pervaded  it.  Had  all  reputable  St. 
Ange  gone  a-visiting? 

Jock's  absence,  and  now  Joyce's,  gave  Billy  a 
creepy  feeling  such  as  a  cat  must  feel  who  has  been 
deserted  by  them  he  trusted. 

But  there  had  been  no  fire  in  Filmer's  shack; 
on  Gaston's  hearth  a  roaring,  recently  builded  fire 
gave  evidence  of  late  companionship. 

"Joyce!"  called  Bil'v.  There  was  no  reply. 
Then  the  boy  opened  oie  door  leading  into  the 
lean-to.  He  had  no  reverence  for  retreats.  If 
any  door  opened  to  Billy's  hand,  Billy's  feet  carried 
him  further. 


306        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

A  fresh  fire  also  blazed  on  the  hearth  of  Gaston's 
sanctuary. 

All  at  once  Billy's  childhood  rose  supreme  over 
his  recently  gained  moral  viewpoint.  Ever  since 
he  and  the  other  St.  Ange  children  had  spied  upon 
Gaston  as  a  stranger,  Gaston's  possessions  had  filled 
their  souls  with  curious  wonder. 

Maggie  was  responsible  for  the  story  about  a 
certain  chest. 

"It's  as  big" —  here  Maggie  had  stretched  truth 
to  the  snapping  point  — "  as  this !  And  it's  all 
thick  with  iron  strips,  and  it  has  a  lock  as  big  as  my 
head.  Once  I  saw  him  open  it  —  I  was  in  the  next 
room  — " 

"What  was  in  it?"  St.  Ange  youth  whispered. 

"That's  telling,"  Maggie  had  sniffed. 

But  after  all  the  earthly  wealth  that  St.  Ange 
greed  then  held  in  the  way  of  strings,  old  postage 
stamps,  etc.,  had  been  laid  at  her  feet,  Maggie 
revealed  what  she  had  not  seen. 

"There's  hundreds  of  dollars  of  gold.  Umph! 
And  candy  and — and" —  Maggie's  imagination  in 
those  days  had  been  awakened  by  Gaston's  fairy- 
lore  — "  and  a  box  tied  up  with  a  blood-stained 
cord!  And  a  gun,  and  a  knife,  with  queer  spots  on 
it,  and  things  that  made  n.e  turn  sick  as  I  looked !" 

As  Billy  viewed  the  chest  now  —  somewhat 
dwindled  as  to  size  —  the  old  story  moved  him. 

There  was  no  low  curiosity  of  a  thieving  kind  in 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       307 

his  feverish  longing  to  test  the  truth  ofthatold  story 
of  Maggie's.  Money  had  no  lure  for  him,  candy 
he  was  surfeited  with,  but  he'd  chance  much  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  box  tied  with  the  blood-stained 
cord,  and  the  knife  with  the  queer  spots. 

Joyce  had  apparently  gone  on  an  errand.  Billy 
stepped  back  into  the  living  room,  then  went  to  the 
wood-shed,  and  all  around  the  house. 

Perhaps  she  had  gone  to  the  store  by  a  back  path  — • 
she  had  a  love  for  unfrequented  places. 

Billy  returned  to  the  shack,  laid  the  letter  on  the 
table  of  the  outer  room,  and  tiptoed  back  to  the 
lean-to. 

The  particular  kind  of  thrill  he  experienced  then 
was  delicious.  Quite  different  was  it  from  the  one 
that  had  driven  him  almost  mad  with  fear  as  he 
listened  to  Jude  and  Birkdale  a  time  back.  This 
was  a  thriller  that  appealed  to  the  familiar  in  him, 
—  the  impishness  that  died  hard. 

He  went  across  to  the  chest  and  leaned  over  it. 
The  fire  crackled  —  and  he  leaped  back!  Then, 
loathing  himself  for  his  weakness,  he  knelt  before 
the  treasure  trove  and  tried  the  key  in  the  lock. 

It  turned  easily,  and  the  lid  flew  back; for  the  chest 
was  filled  to  the  brim.  Several  small  articles,  like 
letters,  pictures  and  books,  fell  onto  the  floor;  but 
Billy  heeded  them  not.  He  was  after  bigger  game. 
He  tossed  the  contents  hurriedly  out.  Maggie  had 
lied  foully  —  not  a  blood  stain  anywhere,  nor  knife, 


3o8        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

string,  nor  box!  Not  even  a  gun,  nor  candy  nor 
gold  dollars. 

Billy's  contempt  for  Maggie  at  that  moment  was 
too  deep  for  expression. 

Disappointedly  he  began  to  replace  the  poor 
trash  that  Gaston  evidently  prized  —  the  last  thing 
to  put  back  was  a  photograph  —  and  from  sheer 
disappointment  Billy  was  about  to  vent  his  disgust 
by  tearing  this  in  two,  when  the  face  riveted  his 
attention.  It  was  a  face  that  once  seen  could  never 
be  forgotten.  Pale  and  sweet  it  looked  up  at  him. 
It  was  part  of  the  clean,  better  life  that  he  was 
trying  to  lead.  It  made  him,  all  in  the  flash  of  an 
eye,  see  what  a  mean,  low  scamp  he  was  to  — 

The  outer  door  of  the  shack  opened  and  shut! 
Hurrying  feet  ran  across  the  floor  of  the  living  room, 
the  lean-to  door  was  flung  back,  and,  all  palpitating 
and  wide-eyed,  Joyce  confronted  the  boy. 

"You  —  Billy!"  The  glorious  light  died  out 
of  the  big  eyes,  the  pale,  expectant  face  set  into  lines 
of  hopeless  disappointment.  "  I  thought  —  '  the 
mouth  quivered  pitifully,  and  Billy  felt  the  added 
sting  of  discovered  shame. 

In  a  moment  things  steadied  themselves,  Joyce 
was  mistress  of  the  situation. 

"What  have  you  there?"  she  asked  sharply.  In 
the  distraction  she  had  not  noticed  that  the  chest 
was  open. 

"Her  picture!" 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        309 

"Her!  Who?"  Joyce  came  over  to  Billy,  and 
looked  at  the  face  he  held  at  arm's  length. 

Something  numbed  every  sense  but  sight.  That 
sense  must  convey  the  image  of  the  girl-face  to  Joyce's 
brain,  and  implant  it  there  so  effectually  that  it 
could  never  be  forgotten.  And  that  very  morning 
Joyce  had  seen  its  counterpart  on  the  highway! 

"  Who  —  is  —  that  ? "  she  demanded. 

"  It's  her  up  to  the  bungalow.  They  call  her  — 
Ruth.  See!  here  it  is  writ  on  the  back  —  *  Ruth'; 
her  other  name  is  Mis'  Dale." 

The  face  was  burned  in  now  for  all  time;  and  the 
other  faculties  began  to  throb  into  life. 

"Billy,  where  did  you  get  that?" 

Then  both  boy  and  woman  looked  at  the  dese- 
crated chest  —  and  all  was  told. 

Even  while  she  was  wildly  pushing  facts  from  her, 
Joyce  saw,  rising  before  her,  a  completed  structure 
of  John  Gaston's  past. 

That  exquisite  girl  was  she  who  had  held  his 
love  before  —  and  she  had  married  the  brother! 
Then  Gaston's  name  was  Dale.  Oh!  how  vividly, 
hideously  clear  it  was.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had 
always  known  it.  Even  the  pictured  face  was  as 
familiar  now  as  Gaston's  own.  But  Joyce's  cold 
lips  were  forming  the  words: 

"Billy  you  lie!  You  brought  that  over  to  show 
me.  Tell  me  the  truth."  She  had  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  her  fierce  eyes  frightened  him. 


3io 

"I  have  told  you  the  truth;  so  help  me!  There 
she  is  now;  look!" 

Joyce  turned  as  Billy  pointed  to  the  window. 

Outside,  near  the  grave  of  her  baby,  stood  Con- 
stance Drew  and  the  girl  whose  picture  Billy  held 
limply  in  his  hand. 

Constance  Drew  was  talking,  but  the  stranger's 
sweet  face  was  turned  toward  the  house,  and  Joyce 
saw  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Billy";  Joyce  clutched  the  thin  shoulder;  "put 
that  back!  Now  lock  the  chest,  and  listen.  If 
you  ever  tell  a  living  soul  what  you  have  done  — 
Mr.  Gaston  will  —  kill  you!" 

Billy  obeyed  with  dumb  fear. 

"  Now,  go  out  of  the  shed  door.  Go  —  don't 
let  them  see  yc^ 

Billy  was  gone,  forgetting  even  to  mention  the 
letter  lying  on  the  living-room  table. 

Then  Joyce  waited.  Out  in  front,  they  two  — 
Miss  Drew  and  that  girl  —  seemed  rooted  to  the 
spot  near  the  baby's  grave. 

Feeling  had  departed  from  Joyce  —  she  simply 
waited. 

Finally  they,  outside,  turned.  They  walked 
directly  to  the  house,  and  knocked.  They  knocked 
again. 

"It's  etiquette  to  go  in,  if  the  house  is  empty." 
It  was  Constance  Drew's  voice.  "St.  Ange  and 
New  York  have  different  ideas.  Leave  things  as 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   311 

you  find  them,  that's  the  only  social  commandment 
here."     A  hand  was  on  the  latch. 

"Connie,  I  cannot!  It  does  not  seem  decent/' 
That  voice  sank  deep  into  the  listening  heart  behind 
the  barrier. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  write  her  a  letter.  I'm  sorry 
I  asked  Jock  Filmer  to  take  a  verbal  invitation. 
She  might  think  - 

"That's  better,  Connie,  and  while  you  and 
Ralph  drive  over  to  Hillcrest  this  afternoon,  I'll 
bring  it  here;  perhaps  she  will  be  at  home  then." 

Joyce  heard  them  turn.  She  watched  them  until 
the  pine  trees  hid  them;  then  her  heart  beat  feebly. 

Presently  she  went  to  the  table,  and  there  her 
eyes  fell  on  the  letter  Billy  had  brought.  Quietly 
she  took  it  up,  opened  it,  and  read  it  once,  twice, 
then  the  third  time. 

Finally  it  dropped  to  her  feet,  and,  with  hands 
groping  before  her,  Joyce  staggered  to  Gaston's  deep 
chair  and  fell  heavily  into  it. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

JOYCE  did  not  faint,  nor  did  she  lose  con- 
sciousness.  A  dull  quiet  possessed  her, 
and,  had  she  tried  to  explain  her  state  of 
mind,  she  would  have  said  she  was  thinking  things 
out. 

In  reality  Destiny,  or  whatever  we  choose  to 
call  that  power  which  controls  things  that  must  be, 
had  the  woman  completely  in  its  grip.  Whatever 
she  was  to  do  would  be  done  without  any  actual  foie- 
thought  or  preparation;  she  would  realize  that  after- 
ward as  we  all  do  when  we  have  passed  through  a 
crisis  and  have  done  better,  perhaps,  than  our  poor, 
unassisted  thought  might  have  accomplished  for  us. 

Joyce  was  on  the  wheel,  and  the  wheel  was  going 
at  a  tremendous  speed.  There  was  no  time  for 
plotting  or  planning,  with  all  the  strength  that  was 
in  her,  the  girl  was  clinging,  clinging  to  some  unseen, 
central  truth,  while  she  was  being  whirled  through 
a  still  place  crowded  with  more  or  less  distinguishable 
facts  that  she  dared  not  close  her  eyes  to. 

One  cruel  thing  made  her  cringe  in  the  deep  chair. 
She  was  losing  her  clear,  sweet  vision  of  that  blessed 
night  when  Gaston  and  she  had  stood  transfigured ! 
If  only  she  could  have  held  to  that,  all  would  have 

,312 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        313 

been  so  simple  —  but  with  that  fading  glory  gone 
she  would  be  alone  in  a  barren,  cheerless  place  to 
act  not  merely  for  herself,  but  for  Gaston  also. 

She  was  no  longer  the  beautiful  woman  in  the 
golden  dress;  nor  he  the  man  of  the  illumined  face 
and  pleading  arms.  No;  she  was  old  Jared's  wild 
little  daughter;  Jude  Lauzoon's  brutalized  and 
dishonoured  wife.  Nothing,  nothing  could  do  away 
with  those  awful  facts. 

He,  the  man  she  loved  —  who  thought  in  one 
wild  hour  that  he  loved  her  —  was  not  of  her  world 
nor  of  her  kind.  He  had  given,  given,  given 
to  her  of  his  best  and  purest.  God !  how  he  had 
given.  He  had  cast  a  glamour  over  her  crudeness 
by  his  power  and  goodness,  but  underneath  was  — 
Jared's  daughter  and  Jude's  wife. 

If  he  took  her  courageously  back  to  his  world 
they,  those  others  like,  yet  unlike  him,  would  see 
easily  through  the  disguise,  and  would  be  quick 
enough  to  make  both  him  and  her  feel  it. 

Without  her,  they  would  accept  him.  The  past 
would  be  as  if  it  had  not  been;  but  if  he  brought  her 
to  them  from  his.  past,  it  would  be  like  an  insult  to 
them  —  an  insult  they  would  never  forgive.  And 
then  — he  would  have  no  life;  no  place.  He  would 
have  to  go  on  being  kind  and  good  to  her  in  a  greater 
loneliness  and  desolation  than  St.  Ange  had  ever 
known. 

She   could   not  escape   the   responsibility  of  her 


314        JOYCE   OF  THE   MUKTH    WOODS 

part  in  his  life.  She  might  keep  on  taking,  taking, 
taking.  On  the  other  hand  his  old  life  had  come 
back  to  him,  not  even  waiting  for  his  choice. 

The  woman  who  had  misunderstood,  had  failed 
him  in  that  hour  of  his  need,  had  been  sent  by  an 
all-powerful  Force  into  the  heart  of  the  Northern 
Solitude  to  reclaim  him,  now  that  he  had  accom- 
plished that  which  he  had  set  himself  to  do. 

Every  barrier  was  removed.  Even  Death  had 
been  kind  to  that  sw.eet,  pale  girl  — •  she  was  ready 
to  perform  the  glorious  act  of  returning  Gaston's 
own  to  him,  if  only  she,  Joyce,  would  let  go  her 
selfish,  ignoble  hold. 

Now,  if  she  were  as  noble  as  Gaston  had  striven 
to  make  her,  there  was  but  one  thing  to  do.  Go  to 
that  woman  up  at  the  bungalow,  tell  her  all  that 
she  did  not  know.  All  about  the  heavy  penalty 
weakness  had  paid  for  the  crime  committed  by 
another.  Tell  of  the  splendid  expiation  and  the 
hard-won  victory,  and  then  —  let  go  her  hold  and, 
in  Love's  supreme  renunciation,  prove  her  worthi- 
ness to  what  God  withheld. 

The  little  living  room  of  Gaston's  shack  was  the 
battle-ground  of  Joyce's  soul-conflict  that  winter  day. 

Pale  and  rigid,  she  crouched  in  the  deep  chair,  her 
head  buried  on  the  arm  where  so  often  his  dear  hand 
had  lain. 

No;  she  could  not!  She  would  not!  Then  after 
a  moment  —  "J  TOi-st!  or  in  all  the  future  I  shall 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       315 

hate  myself."  Then  she  grew  calmer,  and  instinct- 
ively she  began  to  plan  about  —  going.  She  would 
leave  both  fires  ready  to  light  —  he  might  come  now 
at  any  time. 

The  letter  Billy  had  brought  had  not  for  a  moment 
deceived  her.  She  counted  it  now  as  but  one  o{ 
the  links  in  the  chain  that  was  dragging  her  away 
from  Gaston. 

It  was  either  Jude  or  her  father  who  had  sent 
the  note.  Well,  it  did  not  matter,  it  was  the  best 
possible  escape  that  could  have  been  conceived. 

Then  her  plans  ran  on.  She  would  pack  her  own 
pretty  things  —  out  of  sight!  They  must  not  con- 
fuse, or  call  for  pity.  There  would  be  no  note. 
She,  that  woman  at  the  bungalow  would  explain, 
and  would  tell  him  that  there  could  be  no  recon- 
sideration, for  she,  Joyce,  had  gone  to  her  —  hus- 
band! 

At  that  point  Joyce  sprang  up,  and  her  eyes 
blazed  feverishly. 

No;  she  was  going  to  do  no  such  thing.  She  was 
going  to  wait  just  where  she  was  with  folded  hands 
and  eager  love.  When  Gaston  came  he  should 
decide  things.  She  would  not  interfere  with  her 
future.  She  would  hide  nothing;  neither  would  she 
disclose  anything.  Why  should  she  strangle  her 
own  life,  with  the  knowledge  she  had  neither  sought 
nor  desired  ? 

The   brilliant    afternoon  sun   crept    toward   the 


316        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

west,  and  it  shone  into  the  side  window  and  through 
the  screen  of  splendid  fuchias  which  clambered  from 
sill  to  top  of  casement. 

Gaston  might  come — now!  Perhaps  he  had 
failed  to  locate  Jude,  and  would  return  to  consider. 
WelJ,  then,  she  could  put  him  on  Jude's  trail. 
Gaston,  not  she,  should  meet  the  "woodsman"  in 
Lola  Laval's  deserted  house. 

In  the  sudden  up-springing  of  this  hope,  Joyce 
quite  forgot  the  face  of  the  woman  at  the  bungalow. 

A  freakish  yearning  to  reproduce  the  one  crown- 
ing moment  of  her  life  possessed  the  girl. 

She  would  build  a  great  fire  upon  the  hearth,  and 
make  the  room  beautiful.  She  would  don  —  the 
yellow  gown,  and,  if  he  came,  he  should  find  her  as 
he  had  left  her. 

If  he  still  loved  her  —  and  she  saw  it  in  his  eyes  — 
then  nothing,  nothing  should  part  them. 

She  would  go  with  him  to  Lola's  house  and  together 
they  would  finish  the  dreary  search.  She  would 
beg  him  never  to  return  to  St.  Ange.  What  did 
the  world  matter,  the  people  of  the  world  ?  Nothing 
mattered  but  him  and  her. 

So  Joyce  flew  to  the  bidding  of  her  mad  fancy. 
She  drew  the  shades  and  flung  on  log  after  log.  She 
swept  and  dusted  the  room.  Put  Gaston's  slippers 
and  house-coat  close  to  the  warmth.  She  lighted 
the  lamp  to  keep  up  the  delusion,  then  stole  to  her 
room  and  made  ready. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       317 

Again,  as  the  garments  of  the  daily  task  fell  from 
her,  Joyce  felt  the  sordidness  and  fearsomeness 
depart. 

The  lovely  hair  lent  itself  to  the  pretty  design, 
and  the  golden  gown  transfigured  the  wearer. 

She  felt  sure  Gaston  was  coming.  The  pre- 
monition grew  and  grew.  He  would  never  leave 
her  to  bear  the  Christmas  alone.  He  might  return 
later  to  search  for  Jude  but,  remembering  her  in  the 
shack,  he  would  come  to  her  for  that  one,  holy  day. 

He  would  surprise  her.  And  she  ?  —  why,  she 
would  surprise  him. 

How  he  would  laugh  and  take  her  in  his  arms!  — 
for  it  was  all  clear  ahead  of  them  now.  She  would 
lead  him  to  Jude! 

A  knock  at  the  outer  door  startled  her.  She  was 
about  to  leave  her  bedchamber  complete  and 
beautiful  —  but  the  summons  stayed  the  little  satin- 
shod  feet,  and  the  colour  left  the  quivering  face. 

Perhaps  Gaston  had  knocked  to  keep  up  the 
conceit  of  his  home-coming  surprise! 

Tiptoeing  across  the  living  room,  Joyce  took  her 
stand  by  the  table  and  called  timidly,  expectantly 
and  awesomely: 

"Come." 

The  latch  lifted  and  some  one  pressed  against  the 
door,  and  then,  in  walked  Ruth  Dale. 

She  wore  the  heavy  crimson  cloak  of  Constance's, 
the  fur-trimmed  hood  of  which  encircled  her  face. 


318       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Coming  from  the  outer  sunlight  into  the  lamps 
lighted  room,  Ruth  Dale  stood  for  a  moment,  dazzled 
and  confused.  Then  her  grave,  kindly  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  the  splendid,  straight  young  form  con- 
fronting her. 

Never  in  her  life  had  Ruth  Dale  been  so  utterly 
confounded  and  taken  aback.  For  a  full  moment 
the  two  faced  each  other  in  solemn  silence.  It 
was  Joyce  who  spoke. 

"I  heard  you  say  you  were  coming.  I  was  in 
when  you  and  Miss  Drew  called  before,  but  I  wasn't 
ready  for  company  then.  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

Mrs.  Dale  sank  into  the  nearest  chair  from  sheer 
helplessness. 

"Please  take  off  your  cloak.  The  room  is  very 
warm.*' 

It  was  stifling,  and  Ruth  Dale  unfastened  and  let 
fall  the  heavy  fur-lined  wrap. 

Joyce  took  Gaston's  chair.  The  contact  seemed 
to  strengthen  her. 

"Miss  Drew  —  has  —  sent  —  this  note."  Ruth 
held  it  out  helplessly. 

"Thank  you.  I  know  what  is  in  it;  but  I  cannot 
come.  I  am  going  away."  The  proffered  note 
fluttered  to  the  floor. 

"Going  away?" 

"Yes."  The  word  was  almost  agonizing  in  its 
intensity.  "Yes!" 

"  Please  —  Mrs.  Lauzoon,"  Ruth  Dale  stammered 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   3iy 

the  name;  "please  may  I  hear  where  you  are  going  ? 
My  friends  are  so  interested  in  you.  I  —  I  —  am 
sorry  for  you.  We  could  not  bear  to  have  you  lonely 
and  sad  here  —  on  Christmas  —  but  if  you  are 
going  away  to  be  —  happy,  we  will  all  be  so 
glad." 

"Please  tell  Mr.  Drew,"  Joyce  clutched  the  arms 
of  the  chair,  and  Ruth  Dale  continued  to  stare 
helplessly  at  the  exquisite  beauty  of  this  mountain 
girl,  "  tell  Mr.  Drew  —  I  am  —  going  —  to  my 
husband." 

"Your  husband!" 

"Yes;  he  will  be  so  glad,  Mr.  Drew  will.  He 
has  always  been  so  —  good.  Tell  him,  please  — 
and  I  think  he  will  understand  —  that  he  made  it 
possible  for  me  —  to  do  this  —  thing." 

The  human  agony  contained  in  these  words 
carried  all  before  it.  Ruth  Dale  got  up  from  her 
chair,  and  almost  ran  across  the  room  to  Joyce's 
side.  She  leaned  over  her  and  a  wave  of  pity  seemed 
to  bear  the  two  women  along  to  a  point  where 
words — words  from  the  heart — were  possible. 

"I  —  I  have  heard  your  story,  dear.  Ralph 
Drew  is  such  a  kind  gentleman,  and  he  —  we,  all 
of  us  —  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts. 
Believe  me,  you  are  doing  the  right  thing,  hard  and 
cruel  as  it  may  seem  now.  When  God  sets  you 
free  —  then  alone  can  you  really  be  free.  I  think 
every  good  woman  knows  this.  Man  can  only 


320        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

give  freedom  within  limitations.  I  know  I  am 
right.  Have  you  heard  from — your  husband?" 

"Yes.     He  has  sent  for  me." 

"Have  you  any  message  to  leave  ?  I  will  tell  Mr. 
Drew  anything  you  care  to  entrust  to  me  —  he  will 
deliver  the  message  to  —  any  one." 

"  Please  —  sit  down."  Joyce  motioned  stiffly  to  a 
chair  across  the  table.  "  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to 
you." 

Ruth  obeyed  with  a  dull  foreboding  in  her  heart. 
She  felt  constrained  and  awkward.  The  unusual 
and  expensive  gown  Joyce  wore  acted  as  an  irritant 
upon  her,  now  that  she  considered  it.  It  seemed 
so  vulgar,  so  theatrical  for  the  girl  to  deck  herself 
in  this  fashion;  and  the  very  gown  itself  spoke 
volumes  against  any  such  lofty  ideals  as  Ralph 
Drew  had  depicted  in  the  woman.  Evidently  Joyce 
was  expecting  Gaston  back;  the  statement  as  to  her 
going  to  her  husband  was  either  false,  or  a  subterfuge. 

With  Ruth  Dale's  discomfort,  too,  was  mingled  a 
fear  that  Gaston  might  return  and  find  her  there. 
From  Drew's  description  of  Gaston  she  knew  he 
was  a  person  above  the  ordinary  St.  Ange  type,  and 
might  naturally,  and  rightly,  resent  her  visit.  But 
Joyce,  more  mistress  of  the  situation  than  the  other 
knew,  was  feeling  her  way  through  the  densest  thicket 
of  trouble  that  had  ever  surrounded  her.  Here  was 
her  chance,  in  woman-fashion,  to  test  that  strange 
double  code  of  honour  about  which  Gaston  had 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   321 

spoken,  and  Drew  had  hinted.  Here,  woman  to 
woman,  she  could  question  and  probe,  and  so  have 
clearer  vision. 

This  woman  visitor  was  from  his  world.  She 
was  kind  and  was,  perhaps,  the  best  that  existed 
down  beyond  the  Southern  Solitude.  If  she  bore 
the  test,  then  Joyce  would  relinquish  her  rights 
absolutely  —  but  only  after  that  woman  knew  why 
she  did  so. 

"I  —  I  suppose  you  think  I  have  oeen  a  very  bad 
woman?"  Joyce  turned  sad,  yet  childlike  eyes 
upon  her  companion. 

"I  think  you  have  acted  unwisely."  Ruth  Dale 
crimsoned  under  the  steady  glance.  "You  see, 
Mr.  Drew  has  always  had  a  deep  interest  in  you. 
His  sister  and  I  heard  about  you  long  before  we 
came  up  here.  He  says  you  had  grave  provocation. 
What  you  have  done  was  done  —  in  ignorance.  It 
would  only  be  sin  —  after  you  knew  the  difference." 

"  I  see.  But  what  —  what  would  you  think  about 
Mr.  Gaston?" 

The  colour  died  from  Ruth's  face,  only  to  return 
more  vivid. 

"  I  think  he  has  treated  you  —  shamefully.  He 
knew  how  such  things  are  viewed.  He  took  advan- 
tage of  your  weakness  and  innocence.  I  hate  to  say 
this  to  you  —  but  I  have  no  two  opinions  about 
such  things.  I  think  this  Mr.  Gaston  must  be  a 
very  wicked  man." 


322        JO\CE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS 

A  sudden  resolve  had  sprung  up  in  Ruth's  mind. 
If  she  could  rescue  this  poor,  ignorant  girl  from  the 
toils  of  the  man  who  had  misled  her,  she  would 
befriend  her.  She  might  even  save  her  from  the 
depraved  husband  who  was  now  her  only  apparent 
safety.  The  girl  was  lovely  beyond  expression.  It 
would  be  a  splendid  thing  to  do. 

With  this  in  sight,  her  interference  took  on  an 
appearance  of  dignified  philanthropy. 

"Will  you  let  me  help  you  ?"  she  asked  wistfully; 
"be  your  friend  ?  I  have  money;  I  would  love  to  do 
what  I  can.  I  have  deep  sympathy  with  you  and  — • 
I  am  very  lonely  and  sad  myself.  I  have  recently 
lost  my  husband  —  I  have  no  one." 

Joyce  continued  to  hold  her  visitor  with  that 
solemn,  intense  glance. 

"You  loved  your  —  husband — very  much?" 
Ruth  winced.  She  could  hardly  resent  the  curiosity, 
but  she  stiffened. 

"Of  course.  But  if  I  had  not,  I  should  have  been 
—  lonely  and  sad.  It  is  a  relationship  that  cannot 
be  dissolved  either  by  death  or  in  any  way  without 
causing  pain  and  a  deep  sense  of  loss." 

"Oh,  yes,  it  can."  Joyce  spoke  rapidly.  "The 
loss  may  mean  —  life  to  you.  It  may  take  fear 
away  and  a  hideous  loathing.  It  may  let  you  be 
yourself,  the  self  that  can  breathe  and  learn  to  love 
goodness." 

This  outburst  surprised  and  confused  Ruth  Dale. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       323 

The  expression  of  face,  voice  and  language  swept 
away  the  sense  of  unreality  and  detachment.  Here 
was  a  vital  trouble.  A  tangible  human  call.  It 
might  be  that  she,  instead  of  Ralph  Drew  or  Con- 
stance, or  any  other  person,  might  touch  and  rescue 
this  girl  who  was  finding  herself  among  the  ruins  of 
her  life. 

Ruth  Dale  was  no  common  egotist,  but  her  charm 
and  magnetism  had  often  taken  her  close  to  others' 
needs,  and  she  was  eager,  always,  to  answer  any 
demand  made  upon  her. 

"Joyce,"  she  said  softly,  "please  let  me  call  you 
that.  You  see,  by  that  name  I  have  always  heard 
you  called,  and  Constance  Drew  and  I  felt  we  knew 
you  before  we  saw  you.  I  believe  you  have  suffered 
horribly.  All  women  suffer  in  an  unhappy  mar- 
riage —  but  you  suffered  doubly  because  you  have 
always  been  capable  of  better  things,  perhaps,  than 
you  have  ever  had.  You  do  not  mind  my  speaking 
very  plainly?" 

"  No.     I  want  you  to." 

"  But  you  cannot  find  happiness  —  I  know  I  am 
right  about  this  —  by  taking  from  life  what  does 
not  really  belong  to  you.  Do  you  see  what  I  mean  ? " 

"No»  but  go  on;  I  may  see  soon."  The  quiet 
face  opposite  made  Ruth  Dale  more  and  more 
uncomfortable.  She  had,  for  a  moment,  forgotten 
the  possibility  of  Gaston's  return;  the  yellow  gown 
was  losing  its  irritating  power;  she  truly  had  a  great 


324       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

and  consuming  desire  to  be  of  service  to  this  woman 
who  was  following  her  words  with  feverish  intensity, 
but  she  was  ill  at  ease  as  she  proceeded. 

"If  we  have  bungled  our  lives,  made  grave  mis- 
takes, it's  better  to  abide  by  them  courageously 
than  defy  —  well,  the  accepted  laws. 

"Perhaps  you  ought  not  go  back  to  your  husband; 
I  would  not  dare  decide  that;  Ralph  Drew  would 
know,  but  this  I  know,  you  should  not  stay  here. 
I  will  befriend  you,  Joyce,  in  whatever  other  course 
you  choose.  Please  let  me  help  you;  it  would  help 
me." 

She  stretched  her  pretty,  pleading  hands  across 
the  table,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  felt 
old,  and  worldly-wise  beside  this  mountain  girl, 
and  she  was  adrift  on  the  alluring  sea  of  personal 
service. 

Joyce  took  no  heed  of  the  waiting  hands,  the 
inspired  face  held  her. 

"Don't  you  see,  Joyce,  even  if  this  is  love  that 
controls  you,  you  would  not  want  it  to  be  selfish  ?" 

"No.     Oh!    No." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  this  man  Gaston,  really  ? 
Mr.  Drew  says  he  is  quite  different  from  the  people 
hereabout.  You  do  not  even  know  the  true  man, 
his  name,  nor  antecedents.  The  time  may  come 
when  he  will  return  to  his  former  life,  whatever  it 
was;  can  you  not  see  how  you  would — interfere 
with  such  a  plan  ?  If  he  left  you  —  what  would  he 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       325 

leave  you  to  ?  And  if  he  were  one  of  a  thousand 
and  took  you  with  him — what  then?  In  eithei 
case  it  would  mean  your  unhappiness  and  his  — 
shame." 

Joyce  winced,  and  Ruth  Dale  saw  the  hands 
clutch  the  arms  of  the  chair.  She  felt  that  she  was 
making  an  impression,  and  her  ardour  grew. 

"I  do  not  know  Gaston,"  she  went  on,  "but  I 
do  know  the  world;  and  for  women  placed  as  you 
are,  Joyce,  there  is  no  alternative.  Your  very  love 
should  urge  you  to  accept  the  situation,  hard  as  it 
may  seem." 

"  It  does."  For  a  moment  the  lovely  head  drooped 
and  the  white  lids  quivered  over  the  pain-filled 
eyes. 

"  No  matter  how  —  good  a  man  —  this  Mr. 
Gaston  has  been  to  you  —  he  knew  the  price  you 
would  have  to  pay  some  day.  He  has  been  either 
wilfully  weak  —  or  worse.  A  man  takes  a  mean 
advantage  of  a  woman  in  all  such  matters.  It  is 
not  a  question  of  right  or  wrong  altogether  —  it 
isn't  fair. 

"I  have  burned  over  such  things  ever  since  I 
was  a  girl  —  I  am  ready  now  to  prove  to  you  my 
desire  to  help  you.  Will  you  let  me,  Joyce  ?" 

"You  are  very,  very  good.  I  can  see  you  are 
better  and  kinder  than  any  other  woman  I  ever  knew. 
I  believe  all  that  you  say  is  true.  If  I  did  not  think 
that,  I  could  not  do  what  I  am  going  to  do." 


326       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Joyce  spoke  very  quietly,  very  simply.  She  was 
not  even  confused  when  she  poured  out  the  deepest 
secrets  of  her  heart.  She  was  worn  and  spent; 
loneliness,  conflict  and  soul-torture  had  torn  down 
all  her  defenses. 

"You  are  right  in  all  that  you  have  said  —  but 
you  don't  know  all!"  The  flame  rose  in  the  pallid 
face;  "but  if  you  did,  the  truth  of  what  you  have 
said  would  be  all  the  deeper. 

"My  love  has  been  a  selfish  one  because  I  never 
thought  it  lay  in  my  power  to  do  anything  for  — 
him.  I  see  there  is  something  now  that  I  can  do 

—  and  I  mean  to  do  it  so  thoroughly  that  even  his 
goodness  cannot  prevent.     He  is  so  very,  very  good ; 
oh!  if  you  could  only  know  him  as  I  know  him! 

"I  am  —  going  to  my  husband,  then — that 
will  finish  it!  But  I  must  tell  you  something — • 
first." 

Joyce  caught  her  breath,  and  she  sat  up  straight 
and  rigid. 

"I  suppose  in  your  life  you  could  not  believe  that 
a  man  like  Mr.  Gaston  could  be  just  good  to  me 

—  and  nothing  else  ?" 

Woman  looked  at  woman.  The  world's  woman 
noted  the  beauty  and  tender  grace  of  the  unworldly 
woman,  and  her  eyes  fell. 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  believe  that.  I  have 
heard  of  such  cases  —  I  never  knew  one  —  and  for 
that  very  reason  of  unbelief,  it  does  not  greatly 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS     "327 

matter  —  the  outcome  would  be  the  same  —  for 
the  woman  and  the  man." 

"Yes;  but  they  would  know,  and  God  would 
know;  might  that  not  be  enough  ?" 

"No.     Believe  me — it  would   not  be  enough." 

"  Do  you  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that,  in  this 
case,  it  is  true  ?" 

Again  the  two  held  each  other  in  a  long  challenge. 
Then: 

"  Joyce,  as  God  hears  me,  I  do  believe  you.  Now 
I  am  more  eager  than  ever  to  be  your  friend." 

"You  —  cannot  be  mine  —  but  you  must  be  his!" 

"His?"   Ruth  started  back. 

"Yes.  I  do  know  -^  something  of  his  life.  He 
belonged  —  to  your  world.  He  had  a  great,  a 
terrible  trouble  —  but  through  it  all  he  saw  the  stars, 
not  the  mud,  and  he  came  out  of  it  —  a  strong, 
tender,  brave  man." 

A  dull  sob  shook  the  low,  sweet  voice. 

"All  the  shameful  sorrow  served  as  a  purpose  to 
make  him  noble  —  and  splendid;  but  his  soul  was 
sad  and  hurt.  He  never  blamed  any  one,  though 
there  were  others  who  should  have  suffered  more 
than  he.  He  just  gave  himself  up  to  the  chance 
of  gaining  good  out  of  all  the  evil.  Then  he  came 
here  —  to  rest.  But  he  could  not  help  being  kind 
and  helpful.  He  found  —  me.  He  taught  me,  he 
gave  me  hope  and  showed  me  —  how  to  live.  Oh ! 
you  can  never  understand.  You  have  always  had 


328"      JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

life  —  I  never  had  it  until  he  took  the  blindness 
from  me. 

"  He  tried  to  do  the  best  for  me  —  he  wanted 
me  to  marry  Jude  Lauzoon.  He  tried  to  make 
Jude  good,  too  —  but  that  was  more  than  even  be 
could  accomplish.  Then  I'm  —  afraid  I  cannot 
tell  you  —  this  it  might  —  soil  your  soul." 

"Go  on."  Ruth  spoke  hoarsely.  She  was  spell- 
bound and  a  deathly  coldness  crept  over  her. 

"Well,  Jude  dragged  all  of  me  down,  down, 
down  —  all  of  me  but  the  part  that  —  Mr.  Gaston 
had  made.  That  part  clung  to  him  as  if  he  were 
its  God." 

"I  see,  I  see.     Goon!" 

"  It  was  all  low  —  and  evil,  that  life  with  Jude, 
except  the  poor  baby.  That  had  rf  soul,  too,  but 
the  dreadful  body  could  not  hold  it.  It  had  to  go  — 
and  oh !  I  am  so  glad. 

"Then,  in  all  the  world,  there  was  nowhere  for 
me  to  go  but  —  here.  I  did  not  mean  to  fling 
myself  upon  him.  I  came  to  save  him.  There  was 
money  Jude  had  —  oh !  it  doesn't  matter,  but 
anyway,  things  happened,  and  I  was  left  —  on  Mr 
Gaston's  mercy. 

"I  had  only  one  idea  of  men  — then.  You  see 
Jude  had  almost  made  a  beast  of  me,  too."  The 
great  eyes  shone  until  they  burned  into  Ruth  Dale's 
brain. 

"  But  Mr.  Gaston  rose  high  and  far  above  my  low 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       329 

fear  and  thought.  How  I  hated  myself  then  for 
daring  to  judge  him  by  —  Jude.  No,  he  made  a 
clean,  holy  place  for  me  to  live  in.  He  saw  no  other 
way  to  help  me  —  perhaps  he  did  not  look  far  enough 
in  the  future,  it  did  not  matter  —  but  he  never  came 
down  from  his  high  place  except  to  make  me  better 
by  his  heavenly  goodness. 

"After  a  while  it  grew  easy  —  after  I  compre- 
hended his  thought  for  me  —  and  we  were  very 
happy  —  just  as  we  might  have  been  had  we  been 
brother  and  sister.  I  grew  to  think  his  own  kind 
would  know  and  understand  how  impossible  it  would 
be  for  him  to  be  other  than  what  he  was;  and  for 
what  the  lower  people  thought  I  had  no  care.  I  was 

—  just  happy! 

"But  something  happened.  Perhaps  being  near 
such  goodness  made  me  a  little  better;  and  a  great 
happiness  and  lack  of  fear  helped  —  I  think  I  got 
nearer  to  his  high  place.  He  loved  to  give  me  pretty 
things.  He  gave  me  this"  —  the  fumbling  fingers 
touched  the  yellow  gown;  "and  I  suppose  I  looked 

—  different,  and  then  he  saw  that  I  had  —  changed 
and  —  and  he  —  loved  me!     I  know  he  loved  me; 
women  can  tell.     I  could  not  be  wrong  about  that. 
You  see  I  had  always  loved  him  —  and  had  once 
hungered  so  for  his  love  that  when  it  came  I  could 
not   be   deceived.     It  —  was  —  that  —  last  —  night 
he  told   me  —  about  —  the   past!    Then   he   went 
away  to  find  Jude  —  to  get  Jude  to  set  me  free  —  and 


330       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

we  were  —  going  to  —  be  —  "  the  words  trailed 
into  a  faint  moan.  "  But  I  see,  I  see !  Even  if  it 
had  come  out  right  — I'd  always  be,  for  all  his  good- 
ness, old  Jared  Birkdale's  daughter,  and  Jude 
Lauzoon's  wife.  That,  he  would  have  to  bear  and 
suffer  for  me  —  and  his  world  would  never  for- 
give him  —  nor  me ! 

"No;  I  do  love  him  too  well  for  that.  I  give  him 
back  to  his  place,  and  you." 

"To  me?"  And  Ruth  Dale,  haggard  and  trem- 
bling, came  slowly  around  the  table,  clinging  to  it 
for  support.  When  she  reached  Joyce,  she  put  out 
cold,  groping  hands  and  clutched  her  by  the 
shoulders. 

"You  — give  him  back  to  me  — why  ?  Who  is  he?" 

"John  Gaston  is  — John  Dale.  It  has  all  come 
to  me  so  suddenly,  I  cannot  explain,  but  there  is  no 
mistake.  I  am  going  to  Jude  Lauzoon,  so  that 
neither  you  nor  he  can  keep  me  —  from  what  alone 
is  mine;  but  be  —  good  to  him  —  or  God  will  never 
forgive  you!  Please  j;o  now.  I  must  hurry.  Good- 
bye." 

"Joyce!"     Ruth  Dale  was  crouching  at  her  feet. 

"I  am  —  so  tired."  A  long  sigh  broke  from 
Joyce's  lips.  "Please  do  not  make  it  harder.  It 
must  be;  and  I  have  much  to  do." 

"  But  —  there  may  be  some  mistake."  A  horrible 
fear  shook  Ruth  Dale.  Joyce  rose  and  confronted 
the  woman  who  knelt  on  the  floor. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       331 

"Do  you  believe  there  is?'*  she  flung  the  ques- 
tion, madly.  "Do  you?"  There  was  no  faltering, 
onl^a^stern  command. 

"No,"  shuddered  Ruth  Dale. 

"Then  please,  go.  My  part  is  all — over!  But 
-  be  —  oh !  be  heavenly  good  to  him." 

Blinded  and  staggering  under  the  blow,  Ruth 
Dale  got  to  her  feet  and  went  from  the  house.  The 
outer  cold  steadied  her  somewhat,  but  when,  a  half- 
hour  later,  she  entered  Ralph  Drew's  study,  the  man 
by  the  fire  gazed  upon  her  as  if  she  were  a  stranger. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  asked  affrightedly, 
springing  to  her  side. 

She  let  him  take  her  icy  hands  in  his.  "I've 
found  — John!"  she  gasped  hoarsely. 

"  John  —  who  ?  Sit  down,  Ruth.  You  have  had 
a  terrible  fright."  He  put  her  firmly,  but  gently 
in  his  own  arm-chair.  "Tell  me  all  about  it," 
he  urged  quietly. 

"John  Dale.     Philip's  brother." 

"In  heaven's  name,  where!" 

"Up  at  Gaston's  shack.  Gaston — is  —  John 
Dale." 

Ralph  drew  back  and  repeated  dully: 

"  Gaston  —  is  John  Dale  ?  Gaston  —  is  John 
Dale?"  Presently  the  wonder  became  affirmation. 
"Yes,"  he  almost  groaned,  "Gaston  is — John 
Dale." 

A  lurking  familiarity  of  feature  gained  power  in 


332        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Drew's  memory  of  Gaston.  It  linked  itself  into 
other  details.  He  had  always  known  Gaston  had 
a  hidden  cause  for  being  in  St.  Ange.  Yes;  he  was 
John  Dale. 

For  Drew  to  become  convinced  was  for  him  to 
act  upon  the  impulse  of  his  warm  heart. 

"Ruth,  dear,"  he  whispered,  "make  yourself 
comfortable.  I  will  go  to  him." 

Then  Ruth  raised  her  hands  to  hold  him  back. 
Her  voice  was  deep  and  awed. 

"No!"  she  commanded  "neither  you  nor  I, 
Ralph,  is  fit  to  enter  —  there.  A  miracle  has  been 
performed  up  among  the  pines.  A  man  and  woman 
have  been  created  —  that  we  are  not  worthy  to  — 
touch!" 

"  Ruth  what  madness  is  this  ?  What  has  occurred  ? 
You  must  explain  to  me  clearly." 

Then  the  story  rushed  out  in  a  flood.  Tears 
checked  it  at  times;  a  hysterical  laugh  now  and 
again  threatened;  but  Drew  controlled  the  excite- 
ment by  word  and  touch. 

"And  now,"  Ruth  was  panting  and  exhausted; 
"  she,  that  —  wonderful  woman,  has  given  him  back 
—  to  me.  Can't  you  see  ?  She  loves  the  soul  of 
him  — the  great,  strong  man  of  him  —  but  I  — why 
even  now,  I  cannot  forget  the  evil  thing  —  that 
befell — the  body  of  him  while  he  was — in — " 

"Ruth!    You    shall    not    so    degrade  yourself." 

"Yes!    Yes!  it  is   quite  true.     That  is  what  I 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   333 

meant.     I  am  not  fit  to  touch  —  her  nor  him,  and  yet 

I  shall  shudder  all  my  life — when  I  remember." 

Drew  saw  that  reason  was  tottering  in  Ruth. 

"  He  may  —  not  —  wish  —  to  claim  you,  dear/' 
he  comforted. 

"But  he  must;  he  must!  Now  that  she  is  going 
to  her  own;  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  do  —  but 
to  go  to  mine." 

"This  can  go  no  further,  Ruth."  Drew  rose 
hastily.  "I  am  going  to  send  Aunt  Sally  to  you, 
and  I  must  think  things  out.  Calm  yourself,  dear. 
In  all  such  times  as  these,  a  greater  power  than  is 
in  us,  controls  and  gives  strength.  Let  go  —  Ruth ! 
Let  the  Power  that  is,  take  you  in  its  keeping." 

He  touched  her  cold  face  with  reassuring  sym- 
pathy, and  then  went  to  find  Miss  Sally. 

His  next  impulse  was  to  rush  to  Gaston's  shack; 
his  second  thought  restrained  him.  If  Gaston  had 
returned,  he  would  rightfully  resent  any  outside 
interference  with  this  crucial  time  of  his  life.  If 
Joyce  were  decided  in  the  course  she  had  laid  out 
for  herself  —  how  dared  he,  how  could  he,  divert 
her  from  it  without  involving  them  all  in  a  deeper 
perplexity  ? 

So  Drew  resigned  himself  to  the  Power  that  is. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  WAS  Billy  Falstar  who  broke  upon  Joyce's 
solitude  after  Ruth  Dale  had  left  her. 
Worn   beyond    the    point   where    conscious 
suffering  held   strong  part,   Joyce  was   completing 
her  final  arrangements  mechanically  and  laboriously 
when  Billy  presented  himself. 

"Say,  Joyce,"  the  boy  faltered,  standing  in  the 
doorway  and  kicking  his  heels  together,  "I'm 
blamed  sorry  I  done  that  sneak  job." 

"It  doesn't  matter  much,  Billy.  But  now  that 
you  are  here,  will  you  help  me  pack  food  and  things  ? 
I'm  going  —  away." 

Then  Billy  recalled  the  letter,  and  fear  rose  sharply 
to  the  fore. 

"You  ain't  going  to  go  —  no  such  thing!"  he 
cried,  coming  in  and  slamming  the  door  behind 
him.  "That's  a  —  that's  a  fake  letter." 

"Yes,  I  know.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference. 
But  tell  me,  Billy,  is  it  father  or  Jude  down  at  the 
Laval  place  ? " 

Billy  was  stricken  with  surprise. 

"How  d'  yer  know  ?"   he  gasped. 

"Oh!  it  was  all  so  foolish!"  she  answered  smil- 
ing feebly.  "  If  he  —  if  Mr.  Gaston  had  sent  it, 

334 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS  335 
don't  you  see  that  there  would  have  been  no 
need  of  this  mystery?  But  is  it  Jude  or  father, 

"It's  old  Birkdale,"  Billy  burst  out,  and  then 
between  fear  and  relief  he  related  what  had  hap- 
pened  in  the  hut  in  the  woods. 

"Then  it's  a  longer  way  I  must  go."  We 
sighed  wearily.  "Do  you  think  I  could  get  there  - 
walking,  Billy?" 

The  boy  eyed  her  as  if  she  had  gone  crazy 
'"Course  not.     But  what  you  want  to  go  for, 
anyway? 

Joyce  came  close  to  him.  He  seemed  the  only 
human  thing  left  for  her  to  cling  to,  the  only  one 
to  call  upon  in  her  sore  need. 

"Billy    rm  going  to  Jude   because  -  he's   mine, 
belong  to  him -and  it  never  pays  in  this 
world  to  take  what  doesn't  belong  to  you." 

"But  — Gaston— you    belong   to   him  —  and    I 
-you  — to   have   him!"     Billy   felt   a    mad 
inclination  to  cry,  but  struggled  against  it. 

'  No,  I  never  belonged  to  him,  Billy.  Believe 
that  all  your  life -it  will  make  a  better  man  of 
you.  He  was  heavenly  good  to  me  because  he  was 
sorry  for  me  —  and  wanted  to  see  me  happy  But 
happiness  doesn't  come  -  that  way.  Sometimes 
it  seems  as  if  it  did  -  sometimes  it  seems  as  if 
God  meant  it  so  -  perhaps  He  did  -  but  the  people 
-in  the  world— the  people  that  should  have 


336        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

known  how  —  the  people  who  had  time  and 
money  and  learning,  they've  muddled  things  so  — • 
that  we  can't  even  see  what  God  meant  for  right 
or  wrong. 

"Why,  Billy,  they  punish  the  wrong  people,  and 
then  when  they  find  out  —  they  do  not  know  the 
way  to  set  it  straight;  but  it  doesn't  matter,  Billy, 
we  have  to  go  on,  on,  on,  the  best  we  can ! " 

Joyce  put  her  arms  around  the  boy,  and  bent 
her  head  on  his  thin,  shaking  shoulder. 

She  no  longer  wore  the  yellow  gown.  She  was 
plain,  commonplace  Joyce,  familiar  to  Billy's 
unregenerated  youth. 

But  Billy  did  not  fail  her.  Awkwardly,  but  with 
wonderful  understanding,  he  put  his  arms  around 
her,  and  whispered: 

"I  just  wisht,  Joyce,  I  was  God  for  a  minute  — 
and  it  would  all  be  right  or  I'd  be " 

"Billy!" 

"I'd  be  gol-swizzled,"  Billy  tamely  ended. 

He  could  not  master  details.  He  only  knew  some- 
thing had  happened.  Joyce  was  going  to  leave 
Gaston  and  go  to  Jude,  and  he,  Billy,  must  make 
the  way  easy,  and  stand  by  her  as  a  gentleman 
should.  He  patted  her  arm  reassuringly  as  he 
thought  it  out. 

"It's  'most  night,"  he  said;  "I'll  hitch  up  old 
Tate's  mare  to  the  sled.  He  won't  know!  It's 
going  to  be  a  big  night  down  to  the  Black  Cat.  I'll 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   337 

drive  you  over  to  Jude  —  and  wait  for  yer,  if  yer 
say  so.  If  yer  don't,  then  I'll  cut  back  —  and  I 
don't  care  after  that." 

"Billy!" 

"When  will  you  be  ready  ?" 

Joyce  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"It's  after  six  now.  I'll  be  ready  when  you  get 
back,  Billy!" 

A  moment  later  Billy  had  set  forth  ;n  the  black 
coldness. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  that  evening  when  the  revellers 
at  the  Black  Cat  heard  a  crunching  of  the  snow  as 
a  sled  rapidly  passed  the  tavern. 

Leon  Tate  was  mixing  drinks,  with  a  practised 
and  obliging  hand,  when  the  unaccustomed  sound 
struck  his  ear;  he  paused,  but  when  the  unappre- 
ciative  driver  passed,  he  lost  interest. 

"Thought  some  one  was  coming?"  Tom  Smith 
suggested. 

"No;  going,"  Murphy,  the  engineer,  slowly 
answered. 

"Where  to,  do  you  suppose?"  asked  Smith. 
Any  new  topic  of  conversation  early  in  the  evening 
was  welcome. 

"Like  as  not,"  Tate  came  forward  with  his  brew, 
"like  as  not  it's  them  folks  up  to  the  bungerler. 
I  heard  Mr.  Drew  had  a  cutter  an'  horse  over  from 
Hillcrest;  and  going  out  nights  skylarking  seems 
part  of  his  religion." 


338       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"Religion!"  sniffed  Smith;  "they're  a  rum  lot, 
all  right!" 

"I  wish  they  was!"  Tate  put  in  gloomily,  but 
grinned  as  the  others  laughed. 

"It's  a  durned  shame  to  take  an  animile  out 
nights  for  fun,"  Murphy  interrupted;  "I'd  hate  to 
run  even  the  injine  'less  'twas  important.  Gosh! 
Tate,  you  must  have  let  your  hand  slip  when  you 
mixed  this" 

"Christmas  comes  but  once  a  year."  Tate 
beamed  radiantly.  It  was  good  to  see  that  his 
Black  Cat  still  had  charms  to  compete  successfully 
with  the  bungalow. 

"That  piece  up  to  the  minister's,"  Smith  glowed 
inwardly  and  outwardly,  "  is  the  nervy  one,  all  right," 
he  remarked. 

"Which  one?"  asked  Tate;  "the  fixture  or  the 
transient?" 

"The  steady.  I  was  setting  here  musing  late 
this  afternoon,  when  in  she  come  over  there,"  Tom 
indicated  the  woman's  side  of  the  screen;  "and 
first  thing  I  knowed  if  she  wasn't  standing  on  a 
cracker-box  on  her  side,  and  a-looking  over  the 
screen." 

"Well,  I'll  be  —  "    Tate  stood  straighter. 

"'Smith,'  says  the  young  woman,  Svhat  does 
Mr.  Tate  have  screens  for?"1  Then,  with  her 
blamed,  sassy  little  nose  all  crinkled  up;  'my!  how 
it  does  smell.  I  should  think  if  Mr.  Tate  had  any- 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       339 

thing,  he'd  have  an  air-tight  and  smell-proof  parti- 
tion.'" 

A  roar  greeted  this. 

"Like  as  not."  Tate  was  crimson,  "the  senti- 
ments you're  rehashing  ain't  got  constitootion 
enough,  Smith,  to  stand  much  more  airing.  Some- 
thing's got  to  be  done  in  this  here  place  to  set  matters 
on  a  proper  footing.  You  let  a  woman  come  nosing 
around  where  she  don't  belong,  specially  one  with 
a  loose-jointed  tongue,  and  there's  hell  to  pay.  Our 
women  is  getting  heady.  You  men  will  learn  too 
late,  maybe,  that  you'd  better  put  the  screw  on 
while  there's  something  to  hold  to." 

"It's  sapping  the  juice,  some."  Murphy  was 
beginning  to  relax.  "But,  Lord!  have  you  seen 
the  duds  for  the  kids,  and  the  costumes  for  the 
women  ?  Mis'  Falster  had  me  in  to  show  off  hers. 
Every  woman's  to  have  a  new  frock  for  the  jamboree 
Christmas  night;  not  to  mention  the  trappings  for  the 
kids.  The  old  lady  up  to  the  bungerler  give  'em." 

Tate  scowled. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Jock  Filmer 
entered.  He  looked  spent  and  haggard;  and  his 
handsome,  careless  face  did  not  wear  its  usual 
happy  smile. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  slamming  the  door  after  him, 
and  walking  up  to  the  stove.  "I  thought  I  saw 
your  Brown  Betty  kiting  over  toward  the  north, 
Tate.  I  was  afraid  something  had  happened." 


340        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"No;  Brown  Betty's  safe  in  the  barn."  Tate's 
gloom  passed  as  he  greeted  Jock.  "The  Reverend's 
got  a  new  horse.  What'll  you  have,  Filmer  ? " 

"Plain  soda,"  Jock  replied  and  walked  up  to  the 
bar. 

Tate  almost  reeled  under  the  blow. 

"Plain  —  thunder!"  he  gasped,  thinking  Jock 
was  joking.  But  Filmer  fixed  him  with  a  mirthless 
stare. 

"  Plain  soda,  and  no  monkeying  with  it." 

The  air  became  electrical. 

"Been  away?"    Murphy  tried  to  break  the  spell. 

"Over  to   Hillcrest  —  on   business."     Jock   was 
gulping  down  the  soda.     His  throat  was  dry  and 
burning;     and    the    unaccustomed    beverage    went 
against    all    his    desire.     "I'm    off — to-morrow  - 
for  a  spell.     Won't  you  join  me  in  a  drink,  boys  ?" 

The  invitation  was  accepted  with  alacrity,  and 
Smith  asked  cordially: 

"Where  are  you  bound  to,  Filmer  ?" 

"  Got  a  job  ? "  Tate  gave  each  man  his  choice 
of  drinks  and  looked  dubiously  at  the  treater. 

"What'll  you  have  now,  Filmer?"  he  asked, 
"maybe  plain  water?" 

Jock's  eyes  grew  glassy. 

"No,"  he  muttered;  "make  it  another  soda, 
Tate.  Yes;  I've  got  a  job.  Such  a  thundering 
big  one  that  it's  going  to  take  about  all  the  nerve 
I've  got  lying  around  loose. v 


JOYCE   OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS        ,4I 

OT-1 

That  s    about    the    siVe    nf    :*  >»    u 


he,d 

"Anything  happened  up  to  Camp  7  t"    Tat 
uneasy.  '          l  ate  was 

"Lord!     It's  further  back  than 

?  —  —  " 

The  others  stared  after  him 


Up°n  . 

.       COmPan>'  turne<l  "Pen  themselves 
fhmgs  are  going  to  --«  Tate  did  not  designate 
the  locahty     After  all,  it  was  needless  for  him  to 
go  into  particulars. 
An  hour  later  Jock,   sitting  in  his  own  shack 

6  '  * 


slope   leading   away   from   the   rubbish 


342       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Jock,  sitting  before  the  fire,  his  long  legs  stretched 
out  and  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  eyed 
these  rivulets  in  a  dazed,  helpless  way,  while  the  foul 
odour  made  him  half  mad  with  longing.  His  face 
was  terrible  to  see,  and  his  form  was  rigid. 

A  knock  on  the  outer  door  made  no  impression 
upon  him,  but  a  second,  louder,  more  insistent 
one  brought  a,  "Why  in  thunder  don't  you  come  in, 
and  stop  your  infernal  racket?"  from  his  over- 
wrought nerves. 

Drew  entered.  His  fur  coat  had  snow  flakes  on 
it.  A  coming  storm  had  sent  its  messengers. 

For  a  moment  Filmer  looked  at  his  visitor  with 
unseeing  eyes,  then  his  consciousness  travelled 
back  from  its  far  place,  and  a  soft  welcome  spread 
over  the  drawn  face.  So  glad  was  he  to  see  Drew 
that  he  forgot  to  be  patronizing.  He  was  weakly 
overjoyed. 

Drew,  with  a  keen,  comprehensive  glance,  took 
in  the  scene  and  something  of  what  it  meant.  He 
smiled  kindly,  and  pulled  a  chair  up  before  the 
hearth. 

"Been  away  Filmer,  or  going?"  he  asked  as  he 
sat  down  and  flung  off  his  coat  and  fur  hat. 

"Both,"  Filmer  returned,  and  although  his  voice 
was  hard  and  strained,  Drew  detected  a  welcome 
to  him  in  the  tone. 

"I  wanted  you  up  at  the  bungalow,"  he  said 
quietly;  "the  girls  cannot  get  along  without  you. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 


"I  shan't  be  here."    The  words  came 
See  here,   Drew,"  Jock  flung  himself 

HiS  ' 


dolv       d  '  <- 

ely  and  outstretched.     "I  wanted  £ 

more  than  any  one,  but  God,  could  know     I  ctul£ 
co^toyou  -but  Become  to  me  at  theth, 
I'm  glad  of  that,  Filmer." 

I'm  not  much  of  a  hand  for  holding  back  what 
I  want  to  g,ve  out,"  Jock  rushed  on>  ,?and  *  ™' 
much  of  an  orator.  What  I'm  going  to  ?e,  ™  < 
Drew,  has  been  corked  up  for  over  ten  years  -°£ 
ripe  for  opening  -  will  you  share  it  t" 

Can  you    ask   that,   Filmer?"     The   two   men 
looked  steadily  at  each  other 


*• 


.        , 

forward  -"and  wondered." 

"I'm  his  son.  There  ain't  much  to  tell  It's 
a  common  enough  yarn.  The  world's  full  of  the 
like.  I,  s  only  when  you  tack[e  (he  ^^  ones 

that  they  seem  to  differ.  The  old  man-made 
himself  That  kind  is  either  hard  as  nails  or  soft 
as  mush.  My  governor  had  the  iron  in  his.  He 
banked  everything  on-me_and  T  wasn>t 


344        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

to  the  expectation.  I  was  made  out  of  the  odds 
and  ends  that  were  left  out  of  his  constitution  — 
and  we  didn't  get  on.  My  mother  -  '  Jock  pulled 
himself  together;  "she  was  the  sort  those  self-made 
men  generally  hanker  after,  all  lady,  and  pretty 
and  dainty.  You  know  the  kind  ?" 

Drew  nodded.     His  face  was  ashen. 

"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  her,  Drew,  I've 
seen  a  good  many,  but  none,  no,  not  one,  who  ever 
came  up  to  her  for  softness,  and  fetching  ways. 
Lord!  how  I  loved  her.  The  old  man  might  have 
known  that  if  I  could  have  gone  straight  I'd  have 
done  it  for  —  mother.  She  never  lost  faith  in  me. 
Every  time  I  went  wrong  —  she  just  stopped  singing 
for  a  time."  Filmer  gulped.  "Then  when  I  pulled 
myself  together,  after  a  while  she'd  begin  again, 
singing  as  she  went  about,  and  smiling  and  laughing 
a  laugh  that  keeps  ringing,  even  now. 

"At  last  the  governor  got  tired  of  the  lapses.  I 
don't  blame  him;  just  remember  that.  He  thought 
if  I  went  off  and  nibbled  —  what  is  it  —  husks  ? 
mat  I'd  come  around.  He  didn't  understand  that 
it  was  the  motive  power  that  was  lacking  in  me. 

"Good  God,  Drew!  I've  been  hungry  and  cold 
and  homesick  until  I've  thought  death  was  the  next 
step;  but  I  couldn't  stick  to  anything  long  enough 
to  make  good.  Such  men  as  my  father  never  know 
what  hell-suffering  men  like  me  go  through  —  be- 
fore they  fall,  and  fall,  and  fall ! 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       w 

K-T  0^3 


•    t    >  umii         . 

horn  ?!.  uh°pe-°f  maki"g  ^df  fit  to  go 
home  and  hear  her  sing  and  laugh  that  had  brought 
me  to  H,llcrest.  Wei.,  I  wrote  L  oU  man  1°£ 

le"  SaTth    I"""  "rth-     Y°U  SCe'  he  blamed 
Said  the  longing  for  me,  the  disappointment 

and  the  rest,  had  weakened  her  heart.  T  co  X 
bear  the  thought  of  ever  going  back  -then;  so  I 
tramped  over  the  hill  and  -St.  Ange  adopted  me 
t  .  been  ,  tame  plot  since  then,  but  it's  never  been 
as  bad  as  ,t  was  before.     I  dropped  into  their  speech 
and  ways,  and  thmgs  sank  to  a  dead  level.     I  £ot 
word  from  H.llcrest  the  other  day."     Filmer  looked 
blankly  lnto  the  red  embers.     "The  governor  has 
-it  all  to   me  with  this  saving  clause:     if  I 
have  any  honour  I  am  not  to  take  the  money  until 
1  can  use  it  as  my  parents  would  desire.     You  see 
the  old  man  had  what  I  never  suspected  -a  soft 


346        JOYCE  OF  THE   NORTH  WOODS 

place  in  his  heart  for  me,  and  a  glimmer  of  hope. 
It  might  not  have  made  any  difference  —  but  I 
wish  to  God  I  had  known  it  before." 

Drew  could  not  stand  the  misery  of  the  con- 
vulsed face.  He  turned  his  eyes  away. 

"Drew!"  Filmer  had  risen  suddenly  and  now 
confronted  his  companion  with  deep,  flashing  eyes. 
"Drew,  I'm  not  going  to  take  the  fortune  unless  — 
I'm  fit  to  handle  it.  I've  been  a  tramp  long  enough 
to  know  that  I  can  keep  on  being  a  tramp,  but  I'm 
going  to  make  one  more  almighty  try  before  I  suc- 
cumb. I  may  be  all  wrong,  but  lately  I've  thought 
the  —  the  motive  power  has  —  come  to  me."  A 
strange,  uplifting  dignity  seemed  to  fall  upon  Filmer. 
Drew  tried  to  speak;  to  say  the  right  thing,  but 
he  merely  smiled  feebly  and  rose  unsteadily  to  his 
feet. 

"  I  wouldn't  blame  you  if  you  —  cut  me  after 
this,  Drew,  but  it's  got  to  be  said.  It's  —  your  — 
sister." 

"  My  —  sister  ?  Connie  ? "  Drew  was  never  so 
surprised  and  astounded  in  his  life  before. 

"Connie?"  he  gasped  again.     "Connie?" 

"If — if  —  I  was  what  I  might  be?  If  I  come 
into  my  own,  Drew,  do  you  think  she  —  could  care 
-forme?" 

"How  under  heaven  can  I  tell?"  Drew  said 
slowly;  "she  has  never  —  how  could  she  ?  shown — " 
he  paused. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       347 

«»™    DitteHa^'   °OUld   She?"    F'lmer  'au«hed   a 
"It  would  be  a  poor  sort  of  reformation,  Jock  -- 
Drew  was  gettmg  command   of  himself -«if  it 

o7r '^K^r  I.h,e;-     YOU>-  **  «  *«  Yourself, 


himself  h  f  3  man  must  kn 

jumself  before  he  has   a   right  to  expect  even 

"Oh  I  I've  worked  all  that  out,  Drew,  I'v 


where  I  fell,  Drew,  in  the  star 
-  gomg  back  there  where  the  loss  of  her  -the" 

and  wher      f   "^  •"*  ~  *«  ff*  the  hardes 
and  where  the  anudote  will  be  the  easiest  to  ge, 
>  gomg  to  take  only  enough  of  the  governor's 
money  to  keep  me  out  of  the  filth  of  the  gutter  unti 
I  can  chmb  on  to  the  curb  or  -go  to  the  sewer 
-a?     But  always  there  is  going  to  be  your    ,W 
above  me.     Just  remember  that  -and  [f  you  can 
help  her  to  thmk  of  me,  once  in  -  a  while  -" 

Rimer,  until  you  climb  up,  you  must  no£  asL 
me  to  hold  even  one  thought  of  my  sister's  for  you; 
except-"  and  here  Drew  looked  frankly  Jthe 

Solitude  »  C£  "     "eXC6Pt  "  the  8°°d  fell°W  ° 
"Thank  you!    That's   all    I   meant.     And   if 


out 


348        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

pull  up  —  and  stay  up  —  she,  not  I,  will  know  how 
to  use  the  money.  She's  got  the  heart  that  can 
reach  down  to  the  suffering,  and  hold  little  dying 
kids  on  her  breast.  If  I  go  under,  Drew,  the  money 
is  going  to  her  —  anyway." 

"Filmer!" 

"That's  all  right,  Drew.  I  know  what  I'm  about. 
She'll  brighten  up  all  the  dark  places  —  and  remem- 
ber me  in  that  way  if  in  no  other." 

Long  the  two  men  looked  at  each  other;  then  Drew 
extended  his  hand.  Jock  took  it  in  a  firm  grip. 

"Good   night,  Filmer,   and  God  be  with  you!" 

"I'm  ready  to  start,  I'll  tramp  back  with  you  as 
far  as  the  bungalow." 

Jock  dashed  the  crumbling,  glowing  logs  with 
his  foot,  and  left  the  fire  dying,  but  safe.  Then, 
gathering  his  travelling  things  together,  he  went 
out  with  Drew,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 

It  was  a  snowy  night  now,  white  and  dry.  In 
silence  the  two  trudged  on  to  the  bungalow,  then 
Drew  said,  "  and  you  won't  come  in,  Filmer,  just 
for  a  word  ? " 

"Thanks;    no." 

"Where  are  you  going  now  ?" 

"To  Hillcrest.  I  start  from  there  to-morrow 
morning,  after  another  talk  with  the  little  fellow  I 
mentioned.  I'm  going  to  keep  to  the  woods  for  a 
few  days  —  they  always  brace  me  —  then  I'm  going 
to  make  a  break  —  for  the  coast.'1 


.  JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"V        Ml  • 

You  11  —  wnte  —  to  —  me  —  Jock  ?" 
' 


then  ««  said 

"Yes;  as  long  as  I'm  fighting,  I'll  teep  in  touch 
If  I  get  down  -you'll  tnow  by        _  ^          £ 

And  Drew,  I  want  to  tell  you  something.     £* 
re.g.on  of  yours  is  M  righf     It  was  th£  |          « 

hat  ever  got  mto  my  system  and  -stayed  there 
It  ^  got  iron,  red-hot  iron  in  it,  but  it's  got  a  homelike 
kmd  of  fnendliness  about  it  that  gives  you  h  „ 
to  hope  ,„  Ms  Ufe,  and  let  the  next\.fe  ta>k"- 


Another  quick,  strong  handclasp  -  and  then 
Drew  turned  toward  the  glowing  windows  of  his 
home. 

Kilmer  stood  with  uncovered  head  in  the  driving 
storm,  and  looked,  with  a  great,  hungry  craving,  up 
o  the  house  that  held  the  motive-power  of  his  new 
1-fe,  and  then,  with  a  dull  pain  he  grimly  set  his 

face  toward  — «-K/»  ^~~~*  J 


face  toward  —  the  coast. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

DREW  waited  until  after  Christmas  before 
he  took  a  decided  part  in  the  affairs  of 
Gaston  and  Joyce.  Indeed  he  purposely 
avoided  any  information  regarding  what  was  going 
on  at  the  shack  among  the  pines.  He  was  deter- 
mined that  St.  Ange's  first,  true  Christmas  should 
be,  as  far  as  he  could  make  it,  a  perfect  one;  and  it 
was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  It  set  a  high  stand- 
ard; one  from  which  the  place  was  never  again  to 
fall  far  below. 

The  snowstorm  raged  furiously  for  hours,  and  then 
the  weather  cleared  suddenly  and  gloriously. 

Blue  was  the  sky,  and  white  the  world.  A  still- 
ness held  all  Nature,  and  the  intense  cold  was  so 
disguised  that  even  the  wisest  native  was  misled. 

Early  on  Christmas  morning,  right  after  the  jolly 
family  breakfast,  Drew  called  to  Constance  as  she 
passed  his  study  door: 

"Connie,  we  cannot  have  Filmer  with  us,  after 
all.  He's  gone  away." 

The  girl  stopped  suddenly.  Her  arms  were  full 
of  gifts,  and  her  bright  face  grew  still. 

"Where  has  he  gone?"  The  question  was  put 
calmly,  but  with  effort. 

35° 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       351 

"It's  quite  a  yarn,  Con;  can  you  come  in  ?" 

"I  can  hear  from  here,  Ralph;  go  on." 

"You  know  that  rich  old  fellow  on  the  Pacific 
Coast  who  has  just  died,  Jasper  Filmer,  the  mining 
magnate  ? " 

"Yes." 

"He's  was  Jock's  —  father." 

Drew  heard  a  package  drop  from  his  sister's 
arms.  She  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  From  his 
chair  Drew  saw  that  her  face  never  changed  expres- 
sion. 

"  So  then,  Filmer  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  change 
even  his  name?" 

The   voice  was   completely   under  control   now. 

"No.  I  imagine  this  was  no  case  of  the  town- 
crier  being  sent  out.  When  the  prodigal  got  ready 
to  return,  under  prescribed  conditions  —  the  calf 
was  there." 

"I  see.  And  has  he  — has  Jock  accepted  the  — 
conditions?" 

"  He's  gone  to  make  —  a  big  fight,  Con.  He  will 
not  take  the  fortune  unless  he  wins.  Filmer's  got 
some  of  the  old  man  in  him,  I  bet." 

"Yes.  Is  —  is  his  mother  living?  Has  he  any 
one  to  go  to  —  out  there  ?" 

"No  one,  Con.  From  what  he  told  me,  I  gathered 
that  it  was  to  be  a  fight  with  the  odds  —  against 
him." 

There    was    a    long    pause.     A    package    again 


352        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

dropped  to  the  floor.  The  girl  outside  stooped  to 
gather  it  up;  dropped  two  or  three  more,  then 
straightened  herself  with  an  impatient  exclamation. 

" He'll  win  out!"  The  words  sounded  like  a 
rally  call.  With  that  the  girl  fled  down  the  hall, 
trilling  the  merriest  sort  of  a  Christmas  tune. 

At  three  o'clock  St.  Ange  turned  out  in  force, 
and  set  its  face  toward  the  bungalow. 

Leon  Tate  had  decided  that  to  put  a  cheerful 
front  to  the  foe  was  the  wiser  thing  to  do,  so  he 
closed  the  Black  Cat  and  arrayed  his  oily  person  in 
his  best  raiment,  kept  heretofore  for  the  Government 
Inspector  and  Hillcrest  potentates,  and  drove  his 
wife  himself  up  to  Drew's  fete. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  as  they  started,  "Brown 
Betty  looks  as  played  out  as  if  she  had  been  druv 
instead  of  loafing  in  the  stable." 

"She  do  look  beat,"  Isa  agreed.  "What's  that 
in  the  bottom  of  the  sled,  Tate?"  she  suddenly 
asked. 

Tate  picked  it  up. 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  grunted, 
and  held  the  object  out  at  arm's  length. 

It  was  a  baby's  tiny  sock;  unworn,  unsoiled. 
The  little  twisted  foot  that  had  found  shelter  in  it 
for  so  brief  a  time  had  not  been  a  restless  foot. 

"Give  that  to  me,"  Isa  said  hoarsely,  and  tears 
stood  in  her  grim  eyes. 

"What  the  —  what  does  that  —  mean  ?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       353 

;TT-Sh°Ul<lI  kn°W>  Tate  '    But «  se<  ",e  think, 
bin    Things  often  let  loose  ideas,  you  know.    This 

being  Chnstmas- and  the  stable  and  the  manger 
and -and -the  baby.     It  all  fits  in." 
Tate  looked  at  his  wife  in  an  almost  frightened  way. 
You   mean"     -  he  tried  awkward^  to  follow 
her  confused  words;  "you  mean  -  a  baby  has  beel 
borned  in  — our  manger?" 

"Lord!  Tate  what  are  you  thinking  of?  St 
Ange  may  be  wilder  than  Bethlehem  in  some  ways! 
but^there  am  t  never  been  no  baby  bomed  in  £,' 

"Then  what  in  thunder  do  you  mean  ?" 

ai.Tnthing;  Tate";  and  now  Ae  teare «» a«u. 

ally  falling  from  Isa's  eyes. 

"I  guess"  _  She  strangled  over  her  emotions  _ 
[guess -its  more   like  -  a  flight  inter  Egypt 
than  —  than  —  a  birthday  party  " 
"Get  up,  Bet!"  Tate  was  routed  by  the  even,. 
Finally  he  sa.d  slowly,  "See  here,  old  woman,  I'm 
gomg  to  look  inter  that -baby  boot,  and  don't 
you  forget  it.     This  ain't  no  time  and  place  maybe, 
but  Tate  s  going  to  have  his  senses  onter  any  job 
that  takes  his  possessions  for  granted.    Give  me 
—  that  flannel  boot." 
"Tate  — I  can't." 
"Can't,  hey?" 

"Well  then  "-and  the  declaration  of  indepen- 
aence  rang  out  —  "I  won't!" 


354       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"What!"  Brown   Betty  leaped   under  the  lash. 

"It  don't  belong  to  me." 

"Do  you  know  who  owns  it  ?" 

"I  can  —  guess." 

"Guess  then,  by  thunder!" 

"  It  —  belonged  —  to  — Joyce's  poor  little  dead 
young-un." 

"How  in" —  then  Tate  blanched,  for  supersti- 
tion held  his  dull  wits.  "How  you  'spose  it  got 
there?" 

"How   can    I    tell,   Tate?     But   I'll    ask    Joyce, 


to-morrer." 


With  that  Leon  had  to  be  content. 

The  feast  began  at  five.  Long,  long  did  the 
youth  of  St.  Ange  recall  it  with  fulness  of  heart 
and  stomach.  Yearningly  did  St.  Ange  woman- 
kind hark  back  to  it.  It  was  the  first  time  in  their 
lives  that  they  had  not  prepared,  and  were  not 
expected  themselves  to  serve,  a  meal.  They  forgot, 
in  the  rapture  of  repose,  their  new  and  splendid 
gowns  —  the  comfort  wrapped  their  every  sense, 

"I  was  horned,"  poor  Peggy  confided  to  hei 
neighbour,  "to  be  a  constitootional  setter,  I  think, 
but  circumstances  prevented.  It's  curious  enough 
how  naterally  I  take  the  chance  to  set  and  set  and 
enjoy  setting." 

Mrs.  Murphy  smoothed  her  dark-green  cashmere 
with  reverent  and  caressing  hand. 

"There's    more    than    you,    Mis'    Falster,"    she 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       355 

said,  "as  is  horned  to  what  they  don't  get, 
sure!  Now  me,  fur  instant,  I  find  it  easier  nor 
what  you  might  think,  to  chew  without  my  front 
teeth." 

This  made  Billy  Falstar  laugh.  It  was  the  first 
genuine  laugh  the  poor  boy  had  had  for  many  an 
hour.  Constance  Drew  heard  it,  and  it  did  her 
heart  good.  For  Billy,  pale,  wide-eyed  and  laugh- 
less,  was  not  in  the  order  of  things  as  they  should 
be.  She  looked  at  Ruth  Dale  and  whispered, 
"  Billy  is  reviving  with  proper  nourishment." 

Ruth  gave  her  a  sympathetic  smile.  Ruth  was, 
herself,  working  under  pressure,  but  she  was  success- 
fully playing  her  part. 

"His  face  was  the  only  grim  one  here,"  she  said. 
"Just  look  at  Maggie,  Con!"  To  view  Maggie 
was  to  forget  any  unpleasant  thing. 

Maggie  Falstar  was  laying  up  for  the  future  as 
a  camel  does  for  the  desert.  Food  and  drink 
passed  from  sight  under  Maggie's  manipulation 
like  a  slight-of-hand  performance,  and  through 
the  effort,  and  above  it,  the  girl's  expressionless 
face  was  bent  over  her  plate. 

The  Christmas  tree,  later,  was  in  the  hall.  The 
party  staggered  to  it  from  the  dining  room  with 
anticipation  befogged  by  a  too,  too  heavy  meal. 
But  St.  Ange  digestions  were  of  sturdy  fibre,  and 
fulfilled  joy  brought  about  quick  relief. 

Aunt  Sally  looked  into  the  grateful  eyes  upturned 


356        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

toward  the  glittering  tree,  and  her  own  kind  eyes 
were  like  stars. 

It  was  Ruth  Dale  who  had  taught  the  children 
to  sing,  "There's  a  Wonderful  Tree,"  and  the 
Christmas  anthem  now  surprised  and  charmed  the 
older  people. 

Above  the  shrill,  exultant  voices,  Ruth's  clear 
tones  rang  firm  and  true.  Drew  watched  her  from 
his  place  beside  the  tree,  and  his  heart  ached  for 
her.  And  yet  —  what  strength  and  power  she  had. 
She  so  slight  and  girlish.  She  had  lost  faith,  and 
had  had  love  wrenched  from  her.  She  was  bent 
upon  a  martyr's  course,  and  yet  she  sang,  with 
apparent  abandon  of  joy,  the  old  Christmas  song. 

Constance  Drew  was  an  adept  at  prolonging 
pleasure  and  thereby  intensifying  it.  With  the  tree 
bowed  with  fruit,  standing  glorified  before  them, 
the  rapt  company  listened  with  amaze  to  Maggie 
Falstar  as  she  sniffled  and  hitched  through  a  poem 
so  distorted  that  the  only  semi-intelligible  words 
were:  "An  —  snow  —  they  —  snelt  —  at  —  the 
manger,  lost  in  —  reverent  —  raw." 

This  part  of  the  programme  affected  Leon  Tate 
in  a  most  unlooked-for  manner. 

"Say,  Smith,"  he  remarked  to  the  station-agent, 
who  was  gazing  at  Constance  Drew  with  his  lower 
jaw  hanging,  "that  beats  anything  I  ever  heard  in 
the  natural  artistic  line.  Blood's  bound  to  colour 
its  victims  —  do  you  remember  Pete's  mother  ?" 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   357 

Tom  Smith  had  forgotten  the  old  lady. 

"Well,  as  sure  as  I'm  setting  here,  old  Mis'  Fal- 
ster  uster  come  inter  the  Black  Cat  when  she'd  had 
more  than  was  good  for  her  out  of  the  tea-pot,  and 
recite  yards  of  poetry  standing  on  a  chair  and 
holding  to  the  top  of  the  screen.  There  hasn't 
been  a  hint  of  such  a  thing  since  then  till  — ' 

But  the  moment  had  come.  The  moment  when 
the  heart  leaped  to  meet  its  desire.  The  moment 
when  the  desire  materialized,  and  the  soul  asked 
no  more. 

Workworn  faces  quivered  with  happiness.  Things 
that  vanity  had  yearned  for,  but  stern  necessity 
had  denied,  were  held  now  in  trembling  hands: 
precious  gifts  that  one  could  do  without,  but  were 
all  the  more  sacred  for  that  reason.  Jewelry  and 
pretty  bits  of  useless  neckwear,  and  gauzy  handker- 
chiefs. 

Useless  ?  No.  For  they  were  to  win  admira- 
tion that  was  all  but  dead,  and  give  sodden  women 
an  incentive  to  live  up  to  them. 

Little  hungry-hearted  children  hugged  dolls  so 
beautiful,  yet  so  human,  that  nothing  more  could 
be  asked.  Boys,  awkward  and  red,  shook  like  leaves 
as  they  fumbled  with  "buzzum  pins"  and  gorgeous 
ties  and  fancy  vests. 

Sleds,  skates  and  books  abounded,  and  St.  Ange, 
on  that  sacred  day,  revelled  in  the  superfluous  and 
the  long-denied. 


358       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Constance  Drew  came  upon  Billy  later,  while 
games  were  in  wild  progress  in  the  hall  and  study, 
seated  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  dining  room  weeping 
as  if  his  heart  would  break  over  a  be-flowered  vest 
and  a  rich  red  tie. 

"Billy!" 

"  Yes'm."    Billy  was  too  far  gone  to  make  pretence. 

"  Don't  you  like  —  what  you  have  ? " 

"Gosh!    Yes." 

"Are  you  happy,  dear?"  The  gentlest  of  hands 
touched  the  red  head. 

"Happy?"  Billy  blubbered;  "I'm  busting  with 
it." 

"Billy!"  and  now  Constance  spoke  slowly, 
impressively,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  —  something. 
It's  something  we  have  all  thought  out.  It  is, 
perhaps,  another  Christmas  gift  for  you,  dear.  I 

—  am  —  going —  away ! " 

"Going  away?"  Poor  Billy  accepted  this  Christ- 
mas offering  with  horrified  anguish. 

"Going—" 

"Wait,  Billy,  boy.  When  Christmas  is  all 
over  and  done  with,  I  am  —  going  back  to  my  other 

—  home     until     next  —  summer.     But     Billy  —  I 
want  a  part  of  St.  Ange  with  me"  —  her  eyes  shone 

—  "I  have  —  been  —  so  happy  here  —  so   glad  — 
and  so  different.     I  want  something  to  make  me 
remember  —  if  I  ever  could  forget.     Billy,  I  want 
you  to  come  with  me.     There  are  schools  there, 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       359 

dear.  Hard  work,  and  a  bigger  life  —  but  it  will 
make  a  man  of  you,  Billy,  if  the  thing  is  in  you,  that 
I  believe  is  in  you.  It's  your  chance  down  there, 
Billy,  your  best  chance,  I  think,  dear  —  and  I'll 
be  there  to  help  you  —  and  to  have  you  help  me. 
Billy,  will  you  come  ? " 

Then  Billy  dropped  the  red  tie  and  the  be-flowered 
vest.  Everything  seemed  to  fall  from  him,  but  a 
radiance  that  grew  and  grew.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but  failed.  He  put  his  hands  out,  but  they  trem- 
bled shamefully.  Then  all  in  a  heap  Billy  sank 
at  Constance  Drew's  feet  and  hid  his  throbbing 
head  in  the  folds  of  her  white  silk  gown. 

The  pale  moon  peeped  through  the  wide  window, 
and  cast  a  strange  gleam  over  the  tousled  red  head 
snuggled  under  the  little,  caressing  hand.  It  trans- 
formed a  girlish  face  that  was  looking  far,  far 
beyond  St.  Ange's  calm  and  peace.  The  vision  the 
girl  saw  was  battle.  Life's  battle.  Not  little  Billy's 
alone,  though  God  knew  that  was  to  be  no  light 
matter.  Not  even  Filmer's  lonely  struggle,  but  her 
own.  Her  fight  against  Convention  and  Precon- 
ceived Ideas.  Against  all  that  Always  Had  Been 
with  What  Was  Now  To  Be. 

But  as  the  far-seeing  eyes  gazed  into  the  future, 
they  softened  until  the  tears  mingled  with  Billy's 
on  the  already  much-stained  silken  gown. 

"Billy-boy,  we're  crying.  I  wonder  —  what 
for?" 


360        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"  Because,"  Billy's  mouth  was  full  of  that  silken 
gown;  "because  you  and  me  is  so  plum  chuck- 
full  of  happiness  we're  nigh  to  busting." 

"  Oh !     Billy,  is  that  really  it,  really  ? " 

Billy  looked  up  from  his  shrine. 

"Ain't  we  ?"   he  said  solemnly. 

"  Billy  —  I  —  believe  —  we  —  are." 

Late  that  night,  standing  alone  by  his  study 
window,  Drew's  tired  eyes  travelled  over  his  parish. 
His  people  had  gone.  They  were  his  people  at  last. 
God-given,  as  he  had  been  God-sent.  He  would 
work  with  them  and  for  them.  He  would  live  day 
by  day,  and  not  look  to  the  eventide.  He  would  — 
then  he  looked  down  the  moonlighted  road  to  the 
stretch  on  beyond  the  house,  where  the  snow  lay 
unbroken  on  the  way  up  to  Gaston's  shack.  A 
tall,  strong  figure  was  striding  into  the  emptiness. 
A  man's  form,  swinging  and  full  of  purpose.  It  was 
—  John  Dale  himself  going  up  to  meet  his  fate. 

There  was  no  light  of  welcome  in  the  shack  among 
the  pines.  All  was  dark  and  lifeless.  Drew  started 
back.  Humanity  seemed  to  urge  him  to  follow 
that  lonely  figure  and  be  within  call  should  his  help 
be  needed.  Second  thought  killed  the  desire. 

The  man  plunging  ahead  in  the  night  was  a  strong 
man.  A  man  who  through  sorrow,  sin  and  shame, 
had  hewed  his  way  to  his  own  place.  No  one  could 
help  him  in  this  hour  that  awaited  him.  He  must 
go  up  to  the  Mount  bearing  his  own  cross  —  and 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       361 

accept  the  outcome  according  as  his  preparation 
for  the  ordeal  had  fitted  him. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  of  the  following  day,  when  Drew 
was  roused  from  his  reading  beside  the  study  fire 
by  a  sharp  knock  on  the  door. 

He  was  beginning,  lately,  to  regard  this  room 
of  his  as  a  kind  of  Confessional,  and  every  knock 
interested  him. 

"Come!"  he  called. 

Gaston  strode  in.  Whatever  the  night  had 
meant  to  him,  his  face  bore  little  trace  of  anything 
but  stern  piu^ose. 

"Good  morning,  Drew,"  he  said  quietly.  "Joyce 
Lauzoon  has  left  my  house.  Can  you  tell  me  any- 
thing about  her?" 

"Very  little,  Gaston/'  The  onslaught,  so  direct 
and  unerring,  rather  took  Drew's  breath,  but  he 
caught  himself  in  time.  "Lay  off  your  coat,"  he 
said  cordially,  "and  draw  up  to  the  fire.  The  cold 
seems  to  be  increasing." 

Gaston  flung  hat  and  coat  from  him,  and  pulled 
a  chair  nearer  the  blaze. 

"It  will  continue  to  grow  colder  from  now  on 
until  the  break-up.  Drew,  I  cannot  waste  time, 
nor  have  I  any  inclination  to  mince  matters.  I  know 
that  you  have,  in  no  small  measure,  influenced 
Joyce  Lauzoon's  thought.  I  know  she  has  spoken 
of  the  effect  of  your  words  upon  her  life  and,  finding 
her  gone  upon  my  return,  I  naturally  come  to  you 


362        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

thinking  that  perhaps  —  and  from  the  highest 
motives — you  may  have  said  something  to  her 
that  has  led  her  to  take  this  step. 

"Whatever  has  been  said,  has  been  said  by  some 
one  who  could  affect  her  as  one  speaking,  if  you  can 
understand,  from  my  side  of  the  question.  No  one 
else  could  have  any  power  over  her." 

"Gaston,  I  have  not  seen,  nor  have  I  had  any 
communication  with  Joyce  Lauzoon,  since  you  left 
this  last  time.  While  you  were  away  before,  she 
came  to  me,  and  I  talked  with  her  as  I  felt  I  should, 
under  the  circumstances." 

"I  know  all  about  that";  a  sharp  line  formed  on 
Gaston's  forehead;  "it  was  indirectly  on  account 
of  that  conversation  between  you  that  I  left  so 
abruptly  again.  Pardon  me,  Drew,  but  don't  you 
think  your  aunt  or  your  sister  —  might  have  followed 
up  your  line  of  argument  by  —  their  own  ?" 

Drew  flushed  scarlet. 

"I  am  quite  sure  they  did  not,"  he  said  emphati- 
cally. 

"I've  got  to  find  her,  Drew";  Gaston  breathed 
hard;  "none  of  you  understand  the  situation  in 
the  least." 

"  Perhaps  we  do,  Gaston."  The  minister-instinct 
rose  within  the  weak  man,  and  gave  him  the 
sudden  dignity  that  had  always  impressed  Jock 
Filmer. 

For  the  life  of  him  Gaston  could  not  despise  the 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       363 

young  fellow.  There  was  courage  of  purpose 
and  conviction  that  ennobled  his  frail  body.  It 
was  no  easy  thing,  Gaston  felt  sure,  for  him  to  place 
himself  and  his  youth  in  this  attitude  toward  a  man 
older  than  he.  It  was  undeniable  Drew  lost 
sight  of  himself  every  time  he  accepted  the  demands 
of  his  profession,  —  and  the  renunciation  won 
respect. 

"  See  here  Drew,  I  do  not  often  give  my  confidence. 
It  does  not  often  appear  necessary,  and  I  think 
nine  times  out  of  ten  it  complicates  matters  instead 
of  solving  mysteries,  but  I'm  going  to  speak  quite 
openly  to  you  —  for  Joyce's  sake.  It  would  not 
make  any  difference  to  others  —  they  think  she 
deserves  punishment  for  appearing  to  deserve  it, 
but  I  believe  you  will  be  able  to  comprehend  the 
difference  and  perhaps  help  me  to  help  her. 

"Up  to  the  night  when  she  told  me  that  she  had 
seen  you,  and  that  your  conversation  had  empha- 
sized some  doubts  of  her  own  —  she  had  been  to 
me,  first  a  poor  hounded  creature,  then,  a  striving, 
high-minded  girl  endeavouring  to  free  herself  from 
the  bondage  of  evil  that  had  been  her  inheritance. 
I'm  not  going  to  speak  of  myself  in  the  matter,  only 
so  far  as  to  say  that  my  own  life,  under  different 
environment,  has  been  such  —  that  I  understood; 
I  undertook  the  —  task  of  helping  her!  What- 
ever of  temptation  cropped  up  now  and  then,  was 
strangled  for  her  sake  always, —  sometimes  for  my 


364       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

own,  too  —  it  died  at  last,  and  I  was  enabled  to 
serve  her  with  single  purpose. 

"What  that  task  has  meant  to  me  —  I  cannot 
expect  any  living  soul  to  understand.  I  was  very 
lonely.  I  never  looked  for  reward  nor  recompense. 
It  was  —  I  thought  it  was  —  enough  in  itself.  But 
something  had  been  going  on  that  was  no  part  of 
my  plan.  Like  a  revelation  it  came  to  me,  that 
last  evening  I  spent  at  home  —  that  she  was  a 
splendid  woman;  and  I  knew  that  I  loved  her! 

"That  was  why  I  went  away.  I  went  to  find 
Jude  Lauzoon.  I  meant  to  free  her,  and  marry 
her.  Her  love  has  always  been  mine.  This  may 
make  no  difference  —  perhaps  you  cannot  believe 
it  —  but  it's  God's  truth,  and  now  you  see  why 
I  must  have  her." 

Drew  had  never  shifted  his  gaze  from  the  speak- 
er's face.  Conflicting  emotions  tore  him  —  but 
there  was  no  doubt  in  his  heart,  now,  of  Gaston. 

"In  your  profession,  Drew,"  Gaston  saw  that  he 
had  gained  his  point,  "you  do  not  want  to  condone 
sin,  but  you  want  to  understand  the  sinner  as  well 
as  possible;  and,  Drew,  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it  —  I'm  not  in  an  overwhelming  minority." 

For  a  moment  Drew  tried  to  speak  and  failed. 
Every  expression  of  his  true  thought  seemed  inad- 
equate and  futile.  Presently  he  stretched  his  hand 
across  the  little  space  that  divided  him  from  his 
companion. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   365 

"Gaston,"  he  said,  "I  thank  you.  It  does  make 
a  difference.  It  makes  —  all  the  difference  in  the 
world." 

His  thin,  blue-veined  hand  fell  upon  Gaston's 
strong,  brown  one,  which  lay  spread  upon  the  chair- 
arm. 

Gaston  did  not  flinch  under  the  touch.  He  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it. 

"Drew,"  he  continued  after  a  long  pause,  "it  will 
help  me  —  to  find  her,  perhaps,  if  you  tell  me  the 
little  that  you  know.  I  am  not  going  to  let  her 
slip  if  I  have  to  hunt  every  inch  of  the  woods  for 
her.  You  must  see  that  there  is  danger  in  every 
moment's  delay. 

"Can  you  tell  me  if  any  one  has  seen  her  and 
talked  with  her  who  might  influence  her  from  an  — • 
outside  point  of  view  ?" 

Drew  was  sorely  perplexed.  He  realized  that 
Ruth's  wild  description  of  her  encounter  with  Joyce 
had  left  many  unexplained  points.  Evidently  Joyce 
herself  had,  in  some  way,  learned  more  of  Gaston's 
past  than  Drew  had  at  first  supposed.  Then,  to 
tell  Gaston,  even  in  his  trouble,  that  a  guest  of  his, 
Drew's,  had  gone  into  the  other's  home  and  caused 
this  calamity,  was  too  cold-blooded  a  thing  to  do, 
without  due  consideration. 

He  knew,  better  than  his  companion  did,  that  if 
Joyce  had  carried  out  her  intention,  there  was  no 
need  of  haste. 


366        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Gaston  was  looking  keenly  at  him. 

"You  are  keeping  something  from  me,  Drew," 
he  said  slowly,  "and  you  have  a  reason  for  doing 
so?" 

"Yes,  Gaston,  I  am;  and  I  have." 

The  further  he  became  involved,  the  more  hope- 
less the  position  became  to  Drew.  Gaston  was 
seeking  to  solve  Joyce  Lauzoon's  problem  and  his 
own,  without  the  test  of  Ruth  Dale.  Not  only 
Ruth's  confession  as  to  Joyce,  but  Ruth  herself 
must  enter  into  Gaston's  future  plan  of  action. 

"  You  know,  Drew,  who  went  to  my  house  ? " 

"Yes;  I  know  that  Joyce  had  a  visitor  who  might 
have  influenced  her  to  take  this  step;  but  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  Joyce  did  not  act  upon  this 
other's  initiative  entirely.  She  had  certain  know- 
ledge of  her  own  that  —  urged  the  course  she  has 
taken." 

"That  is  impossible!"  Gaston's  eyes  flashed. 
Recalling  that  last  scene  with  Joyce,  he  could  not 
doubt  her  simple  faithfulness  —  unless  that  faith 
of  hers  had  been  turned  into  a  channel  which  she 
fondly  believed  was  for  his  greater  good.  Nothing 
could  change  Joyce  Lauzoon.  Whatever  had  been 
the  cause,  Gaston  knew,  she  had  forgotten  herself 
in  her  decision. 

"I  am  —  sure  I  am  right,  Gaston." 

"And  you  refuse  to  tell  me  who  has  seen  her?" 
A  slow  anger  was  mounting  in  Gaston. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       367 

Before  Drew  could  reply,  a  merry  call  from  the 
hall  smote  both  men  into  dead  silence. 

"  Ruthie !  Ruth  Dale,  where  are  you  ?  Come, 
let's  go  and  see  how  things  look  the  morning 
after?" 

Constance  Drew  had  given  Gaston  his  answer. 
By  the  magic  of  that  name  she  had  connected  the 
Past  and  the  Present.  The  shock  was  tremendous, 
but  Gaston  bore  it  with  only  a  tightening  of  the 
lips  to  show  the  agony  he  was  enduring. 

Presently  an  aimless  question  broke  the  unendur- 
able stillness  of  the  room. 

"Who  —  is  —  that,  P-ew ?" 

"  Ruth  Dale  —  your  b  Cher's  widow." 

"So  — he  is  dead?"  At  such  vital  times  in  life, 
the  mind  leaps  over  chasms  of  events,  and  takes 
much  for  granted. 

"Yes;  he  died  a  year  ago." 

"How  long  —  have  you  known,  Drew  —  about 
him  and  me?" 

"Only  a  few  nights  ago.  He  was  my  friend  for 
a  comparatively  few  years  —  but  he  was  —  a  dear 
friend!"  Drew  spoke  as  if  defence  were  necessary. 

"I  wonder  —  how  much  you  do  know,  Drew?" 
Gaston's  face  quivered.  He  began  to  understand 
Joyce's  soul-struggle. 

"Everything,  Dale,"  the  name  clung  uncertainly 
upon  the  speaker's  lips;  "everything —  vital. 
Philip  confessed  —  the  week  before  he  died." 


368        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Both  men  lowered  their  eyes.  They  dared  not 
face  each  other  for  a  moment. 

The  fire  crackled  and  the  clock  ticked.  Every 
sense  was  sharpened  and  quickened  in  Dale  until 
it  was  painful. 

Objects  in  the  room  stood  out  clearly  to  his  uncar- 
ing sight;  the  snap  of  the  fire,  the  tick  of  the  clock 
smote  like  separate  reports  upon  his  hearing;  and 
while  he  lived  he  was  to  recall,  when  he  smelled 
burning  pine,  this  tense  moment.  Presently  he 
rose  unsteadily  and  reached  out  for  his  coat  and 
hat  like  a  blind  man. 

"Well,  Drew,"  he  said,  r~aking  an  effort  to  speak 
evenly,  "there  doesn't  se  n  to  be  anything  more 
to  say.  I  am  going.  Good-bye." 

"Dale — where  are  you  going?"  Drew  was 
beside  him. 

"I'm  going  to  try  and  find — Joyce  Lauzoon." 

"She — has  —  gone  —  to  —  her  husband!  He 
sent  for  her  —  and  she  went."  Drew  spoke  with 
an  effort;  but  before  the  look  on  John  Dale's  face, 
he  staggered  back.  Hopeless  rage,  defeated  desire 
blanched  and  fired  in  turn  the  strong  features. 
Then  without  a  word  Dale  strode  from  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XX 

JOHN  Dale  went  directly  to  his  shack.     What 
else  was  there  for  him  to  do  until  he  could 
find    another    trail    through    the    blank    that 
surrounded  him  ? 

When  he  had  entered  his  home  the  night  before, 
God  knew  he  had  been  sorely  distressed.  He  was 
going  back  to  the  woman  he  loved  with  her  fetters 
still  unloosened.  Worn  and  spent,  he  had  permitted 
himself  the  relaxation  of  spending  a  few  days  with 
her  before  he  started  out  again  on  the  quest  of  Jude. 
He  had  found  the  shack  deserted,  but  every  pitiful 
evidence  of  Joyce's  thought  for  his  comfort  was 
apparent.  He  had  lighted  the  fire  and  lamp;  had 
searched  for  note  or  other  explanation,  and,  finding 
none,  he  had  eaten  hastily  and  gone  to  Filmer's 
house.  There  desolation  again  greeted  him. 

Finally  he  had  conclued  that  Joyce  had  gone  to 
Isa  Tate.  This  was  a  poor  solace,  but  it  stayed 
him  through  the  long  night;  an  early  visit  to  the 
Black  Cat  proved  this  last  hope  vain. 

Now,  with  the  later  knowledge  searching  into  his 
soul,  Dale  noticed  the  careful  arrangements  Joyce 
had  made,  before  she  slipped  back  into  the  hell 
from  which  he  had  once  rescued  her. 

369 


370        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

She  had  taken  only  her  own  poor  belongings. 
The  shabby  gowns  and  trinkets  that  had  been 
found  among  the  ruins  of  the  home  Jude  had 
laid  low. 

One  silent  token  of  the  flight  brought  the  stinging 
tears  to  Dale's  eyes. 

At  the  last,  there  must  have  been  haste,  for  near 
the  door  of  Joyce's  bedroom  lay  the  mate  of  trua 
baby's  sock  that  Isa  Tate  was  hiding  at  that  very 
moment. 

Poor,  dead  baby !  He  was  pleading  for  the  pretty 
mother  who  in  his  brief  life  had  so  tenderly  pleaded 
for  him. 

Isa  had  wept  over  the  tiny  shoe,  and  now  John 
Dale  picked  the  mate  up  reverently,  and  put  it  back 
where  he  knew  Joyce  always  had  kept  it. 

Manlike  he  did  not  give  himself  blindly  up  to  his 
misery.  Life  must  go  on  somehow  —  and  while 
he  sought  a  way  out  of  the  blackness  that  enshrouded 
him,  he  must  prepare  himself. 

He' replenished  the  fire,  and  then  when  high  noon 
flooded  the  living  room  with  a  pale  glow,  he  set  forth 
a  meagre  but  nourishing  meal. 

In  the  performing  of  these  homely  tasks  he  found 
a  kind  of  comfort.  It  brought  Joyce  back  to  him 
in  a  sense. 

During  the  early  afternoon  hours  he  smoked  and 
thought.  Things  became  clearer,  more  fixed  in  his 
mind. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       371 

Of  course  Joyce  had  been  driven  to  Jude  by  a 
mistaken  idea  that  she  was  proving  her  deep  love. 
Almost  from  the  first,  Dale  thought  of  Ruth  Dale 
detached  from  the  shock  of  her  mere  name  as 
it  had  struck  his  brain  and  heart  in  Drew's  study. 
The  old,  vital  charm  of  Ruth's  personality;  her 
sweet,  convincing  power,  when  she  chose  to  exert 
it,  now  rose  in  his  memory.  Joyce  would  be  but  a 
baby  in  the  hands  of  such  a  woman. 

A  fierce  indignation  swayed  the  man.  Gone  was 
the  sweet  memory  of  the  control  that  that  same 
charm  had  once  had  over  him.  Only  as  it  now  had 
touched  Joyce  did  he  consider  it,  and  every  fibre  of 
his  being  rose  in  resentment. 

The  savage  in  him  gained  strength.  He  would 
follow  Joyce  and  have  her  yet  —  in  spite  of  all  that 
had  passed! 

When  Joyce  saw  and  knew  —  what  would  he 
and  she  care  for  the  rest  ?  He  could  deal  with  Jude 
—  there  was  still  money. 

The  wild  claimed  precedence  over  the  innate 
refinement  in  Dale,  and  he  rose  to  begin  his  search. 
He  glanced  at  the  clock.  It  was  four.  He  could 
get  —  somewhere  before  dark. 

The  prospect  of  action  gave  him  relief  and  he  was 
just  turning  to  the  inner  room,  when  a  timid  tap 
upon  the  outer  door  stayed  him. 

His  heart  gave  a  great  throb.  Had  she  come? 
Had  she  returned  to  him  ?  Had  she  found  the  way 


372        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

back  to  hell  impossible  after  he  —  the  man  she 
had  deserted  —  had  shown  her  a  path  to  heaven  ? 

"Come!"  he  commanded  as  if  defying  any  other 
hold  that  might  have  power  over  her. 

Pale,  trembling  and  enveloped  in  the  fur  coat 
and  hood,  Ruth  Dale  entered  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her. 

Her  eyes  were  wide  and  fear-filled,  but  self-pos- 
session was  not  lost. 

"John!"  she  cried  pleadingly;  "as  soon  as  they 
told  me  —  I  came." 

Her  outstretched  hands  recalled  Dale  to  the 
present. 

"Ruth!"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  going  to  her; 
"this  is  —  kind  of  you.  Let  me  take  your  wraps. 
Here,  sit  down." 

It  was  a  relief  to  have  her  a  little  distance  from 
him.  He  took  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hearth,  and  struggled  to  regain  his  composure.  For 
the  life  of  him  he  could  not  fix  his  identity  in  the 
place  where  the  sudden  convulsion  of  events  had 
cast  them  all. 

He  was  an  exile  from  the  past  of  which  this  lovely 
woman  was  a  part,  and  the  present  had  no  space 
for  her. 

In  a  dazed  way  he  noted  how  exactly  the  same 
Ruth  looked.  When  he  had  dropped  her  hands  — 
way  back  there  in  time,  she  appeared  precisely  the 
same  to  him  as  she  did  now,  with  those  same  little 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       373 

jewelled  hands  lying  white  and  soft  in  her  lap.  She 
had  worn  a  bright  gown  then,  Dale  recalled,  but 
even  the  gloomy  raiment  that  now  enfolded  her  had 
no  power  to  change  the  woman  of  her. 

Poor  Dale  could  not  comprehend  in  his  new  birth 
and  life,  that  such  women  as  Ruth  Dale  are  Accom- 
plished Achievements  of  heredity  and  ultra  refine- 
ment. Generations  ago  Ruth's  type  had  been 
perfected;  she  and  others  of  her  kind,  were  but 
repetitions. 

Her  girlhood  had  been  a  brief  pause  before  she 
had  entered  her  fore-ordained  womanhood  —  a 
mere  waiting  for  the  inevitable.  Thus,  Dale  had 
last  beheld  her  —  so  his  photograph  of  her  had  fixed 
her  in  his  mind.  He  saw  her  now  the  same,  out- 
wardly, and  the  placidity  of  the  oft-repeated  type 
held  her  afar  from  his  rugged  place. 

Dale  himself  had  been  tossed  into  the  fire  of 
temptation,  in  the  rough.  He  had  fallen  to  the 
depths  but  to  rise  —  a  better  and  stronger  man 
with  the  dross  burned  out.  The  strong,  primitive- 
rtess  of  him  was  as  alien  to  anything  that  was  in 
Ruth  as  ;f  the  two  had  never  seen  each  other  before. 

Like  a  man  struggling  with  the  recollections  of 
a  pre-incarnation,  Dale  sought  to  find  a  semblance 
of  the  old  passion  and  fire  this  woman  had  once 
roused  in  him.  Not  even  a  reflection  of  them  could 
he  summon.  Had  she  entered  his  life  two  years 
before  she  might  still  have  been  able  to  fan  the 


374        JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

embers  into  flame  among  the  ashes;  now  she  was 
powerless!  Love,  a  great  overpowering  love,  a 
love  having  its  roots  in  the  life  of  the  woods  and 
primitive  things  —  held  the  man  for  its  own. 

Looking  into  the  deep  eyes  that  once  had  pleaded 
with  hers,  Ruth  Dale,  sitting  in  the  lonely  shack, 
wondered  why  she  could  not  cope  with  this  critical 
situation.  It  grieved  and  perplexed  her  —  but  it  did 
not  daunt  her.  Sweet  and  retiring  as  she  was,  and 
consciously  self-forgetful  as  she  believed  herself, 
Ruth  was  what  ages  had  made  her.  Had  her  sub- 
conscious self  asserted  itself,  it  would  have  boldly 
proclaimed  its  absolute  superiority  over  other  women 
of  such  make  as  poor  Joyce  Lauzoon.  Not  merely 
in  the  other's  shocking  lack  of  moral  sense  —  but 
in  very  essence. 

John  Dale  had  suffered  — and  had  tried,  in 
weak  man-fashion,  to  solace  himself.  The  world 
had  helped  to  train  Ruth  Dale.  While  not  admit- 
ting that  there  should  be  any  palliation  for  the 
double  code  —  or  even  the  appearance  of  it  —  such 
women  as  she  recognized  it,  and  were  able,  under 
sufficiently  convincing  circumstances,  to  deal  with 
it.  There  were  reasons,  heav'n  knew,  why  she, 
Ruth  Dale,  should  be  lenient  with  this  silent  man 
across  the  hearth.  The  white-souled  innocence 
in  her  thanked  God,  in  this  brief  silence,  that  the 
man  was  not  as  evil  as  many  a  man,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, might  have  been.  She  believed  Joyce's 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   375 

statement.  It  was  wonderful,  it  was  most  weirdly 
romantic  —  and  it  could  be  overlooked ! 

It  would  have  been  absolutely  impossible  for  Ruth 
Dale  to  conceive  that  John  Dale  had  so  far  outgrown 
her  in  the  great  human  essentials  of  life,  that  he  had 
no  further  need  of  her.  The  life  of  which  she  was 
a  part,  the  life  of  which  she  was,  she  and  her  detached 
kind,  the  shining  centre,  had  not  enough  vitality  to 
hold  this  man  of  nature  to  it.  But  the  pause  was 
growing  painful. 

"  John  — I  have  come  to  tell  you  all." 

He  overleaped  the  poor  past,  and  in  his  hunger 
to  know  of  her  part  in  the  present,  said  eagerly: 

"Ruth,  I  am  waiting  to  hear.  I  might  have 
known  you  would  come." 

Then,  to  his  surprise,  the  pretty  sleek  head  was 
bent  upon  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  Ruth  Dale  wept, 
as  the  man  opposite  had  forgotten  women  could 
weep.  The  sobs  shook  the  slender  form  until  pity 
for  her  moved  him  to  touch  and  soothe  her;  while 
the  savage  in  him  held  him  back.  Somehow,  in 
a  rough  way,  it  seemed  retribution.  He  was  glad 
she  could  suffer.  But  presently  the  flood  ceased, 
Ruth  looked  up,  tear-dimmed  and  quivering.  The 
torrent  had  borne  away  much  sentiment;  she  was 
able  to  face  reality. 

She  told  of  Philip's  dying  confession.  She  deli- 
cately and  graphically  told  of  the  broken  life  —  after 
he,  John,  had  passed  out  of  it  —  and  they,  who 


376        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

remained,  bravely  wound    the  tangled  ends  into  a 
noble  whole. 

Dale  followed  her  words  as  if  the  story  were  of 
another  —  and  of  a  life  he  had  never  shared. 

"  Philip  wanted  you  to  have  all  —  everything  - 
of  which  his  weakness  had  deprived  you!" 

Dale  started. 

"Oh!  Yes,"  he  said  vaguely;  "I  see.  Well, 
I  can  understand  that.  But  Ruth  —  not  even  God 
could  accomplish  that  miracle.  In  all  such  cases 
it  has  to  be  what  a  man  himself  can  get  out  of  the 
wreck.  It  has  to  be  other  things.  New  things  — 
or  he  is  —  damned." 

It  was  the  word  more  than  the  thought  that 
caused  the  shudder  in  the  crouching  woman. 

"You  have  never  forgiven   us,"  she    whispered. 

"Yes,  I  have,  Ruth.  When  I  got  to  a  place, 
cleansed  by  suffering,  where  I  could  forgive  myself  — 
everything  else  was  easy." 

"Oh!  John,  why  could  you  not  have  trusted 
me  with  your  —  your  brave  secret  ?" 

Why,  indeed?  John  Dale  could  not  have  told; 
he  only  knew  he  had  never  paused  to  consider  when 
it  came  to  telling  Joyce  Lauzoon.  The  thought 
gripped  him  hard. 

"It  had  to  be,  Ruth,  I  imagine.  All  the 
ugly  factors  had  to  be  taken  into  consideration 
when  the  plan  for  re-making  Phil  and  me  was 
designed." 


JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        377 

A  grim  smile  touched  the  corners  of  the  stern 
mouth. 

"He  left  his  fortune  to  you!" 

"I  cannot  take  it."  Dale  raised  one  hand  as 
if  pushing  aside  an  insulting  offering. 

"John  —  I  have  my  share — and  my  father's 
money.  Think!  Philip  meant  that  you  should 
prove  your  forgiveness  by  —  finishing  his  work. 
I  never  saw  greater  anguish  than  in  his  desire. 
Can  you,  dare  you,  refuse  ?" 

A  mist  rose  in  Dale's  eyes.  Ruth  saw  it,  and  it 
gave  her  courage. 

Strangely  enough,  now  that  she  groped  toward 
this  new  man  she  saw  before  her,  her  aversion  to 
the  man  she  once  knew  was  lost  sight  of.  A  dim 
fear  arose  that  her  sacrifice  might  escape  him  and 
her.  Not  through  any  unwillingness  on  their  parts, 
but  through  a  misunderstanding.  She  bravely  strove 
to  down  the  menace. 

"John  —  I  came  to  this  house  a  few  days  ago 
to  help  a  weak,  erring  woman,  if  I  could.  That  is 
all  I  knew.  Almost  at  once  she  made  me  see  the 
strange  thing  that  had  happened  here  through  the 
goodness  of  a  strong  man,  and  the  simplicity  of  — 
a  weak,  but  loving  woman. 

"All  unknowingly  I  yearned  to  help  her  —  save 
her,  but  she  wanted  to  save  herself  more  than  I 
understood  at  first.  She  was  so  brave  and  direct; 
once  she  saw  where  her  weakness  had  placed  her 


378        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

and  the  man  she  loved,  she  was  strong  in  her  deter- 
mination to  right  the  wrong.  For  her,  poor  soul, 
there  was  but  one  way  —  she  returned  to  her  hus- 
band! 

"John — she  told  me  who  you  were.  In  some 
way  she  knew  who  I  was.  I  was  so  distressed  and 
surprised  at  the  time  that  I  did  not  question  how 
she  knew  me — but  she  did  and"  -  Ruth  could 
not  bring  herself  to  say,  "she  gave  you  back  to  me." 

"John — let  the  cruel,  cruel  past  be  forgotten. 
Come  back  to  your  own.  The  world  will  see  you 
righted.  John,  say  that  it  shall  be  as  I  —  as  Philip  — 
desire." 

She  looked  like  a  spirit  as  she  bent  toward  him  full 
of  compassion,  of  entreaty,  and  the  kinship  with 
that  which  she  believed  was  still  in  him,  and  only 
waiting  for  her  to  call  to  action. 

The  minutes  passed  —  her  call  brought  forth  no 
rush  of  checked  emotion  and  controlled  passion. 

Dale  looked  at  her  coldly.  He  was  far  too  simple 
a  man,  intrinsically,  to  gather  the  true,  inward 
drift  of  her  thought.  He  was  now  seeking  to  under- 
stand the  change  that  had  overcome  him.  She,  the 
girl  of  his  Past  who  had  held  his  love,  hope  and 
desire;  she  no  longer  moved  him  except  in  wonder 
and  aversion.  But  he  felt  that  it  was  due  her  that 
he  should  meet  her  as  far  as  possible  on  this  new 
way  they  were  travelling.  He  shifted  his  position. 
He  knew  something  more  was  expected  of 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       379 

him  than  he  could  give;  but  he  must  give  as  he 
could. 

"Ruth,"  he  began,  and,  because  his  inclination 
was  to  move  away,  he  purposely  drew  nearer;  "I 
am  sure  you  meant  nothing  but  kindness  in  coming 
to  Joyce  Lauzoon;  I  can  see  that  you  mean  only 
great  good  to  me  —  but  you  cannot  understand. 
You  haven't  even  touched  upon  the  truth.  I  sup- 
pose some  people  are  born  complete  in  the  little; 
they  only  have  to  develop.  Others  are  —  well  — 
thrown  together,  and  they  cannot  assume  form  and 
shape  until  by  blows  and  chiselling  they  come 
through  the  machine  —  moulded.  You  have  always 
been  good  and  true;  what  you  knew  of  me,  long 
ago,  died  and  was  thrown  aside;  what  little  survived, 
was  nourished  apart  from,  and  upon  a  life  you  have 
no  conception  of.  I  think  only  lately  have  I  real- 
ized this  myself.  I'm  a  bigger  and  a  smaller  man 
than  you  knew,  Ruth;  I'm  stronger  and  weaker; 
better  and  worse,"  his  hand  clenched  over  the  arm 
of  her  chair,  and  her  eyes  dilated.  She  was  fright- 
ened. She  felt  his  blood  rising  and  she  shrank 
back.  It  was  horrible  to  be  there  —  with  him 
alone! 

"You  cannot  understand,  but  that  old  life  seems 
to  me  now  to  be  —  used  up,  colourless  and  flabby. 
The  people  seem  small  and  —  all  alike.  This  life  — 
is  big,  free  and  —  in  the  making.  There  are  souls 
here  that  are  only  touched  by  sins  that  have  drifted 


380        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

to  them  —  they  are  possible  of  great  things.  They 
are  new  and  keen,  and  they  ring  true  when  you 
strike  them.  The  woman  who  left  this  house  — 
the  other  day,"  Dale's  words  came  hard  and  quick, 
"is  the  most  glorious  creature  that  ever  lived. 
The  life  back  there  could  not  produce  her.  Strong, 
tender,  and  love  itself!  Not  for  one  instant  did 
she  pause  when  she  knew  who  and  what  I  was  — 
she  loved  —  that  was  enough !  God !  how  she 
loved.  You  —  and  women  like  you,  Ruth,  might 
lead  the  men  you  love  toward  heaven;  she  would 
go  her  way  alone  to  perdition  to  add  to  the  happi- 
ness of  the  man  she  loved.  But  it  would  be  alone, 
mind  you. 

"She's  gone  back  to  such  a  man  as  your  books, 
even,  forbear  to  portray.  Jude  is  one  of  the  creat- 
ures up  here  who  was  born  without  a  soul.  She's 
gone  to  him  to  save  me,  as  she  thought  —  but 
she'll  live  alone,  alone  as  long  as  she  lives  at  all. 

"So  you  see  what  trouble  comes  from  such  civil- 
ization as  yours  grafted  on  to  the  primitive  passions 
of  the  backwoods." 

"John!" 

There  was  no  fear  in  Ruth  Dale  now,  only  a  hor- 
rible conviction  that  John  Dale,  the  man  she  had 
come  to  reclaim  and  give  back  to  his  own,  would 
have  none  of  her! 

"John!     John!"     So  he  had  sunk  so  low. 

"Do  you  know  where  she  is?"    Dale  looked  at 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       381 

his  companion  without  noting  her  pallid  astonish- 
ment. 

"No;  I  do  not." 

"Then  —  and  you  will  let  me  see  you  back  to 
Drew's  ?  I  must  go  and  find  her.  She  shall  have 
the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  by  God!  to  cool  the 
fires  of  that  hell  she  has  been  thrust  into." 

Ruth  covered  her  face  with  her  trembling  hands. 
Ne/er  before  had  she  been  so  near  the  bare,  throb- 
bing heart  of  things. 

Oh!  from  what  had  she  been  saved  ?  And  yet  — 
he  was  standing  above  her  and  he  was  superb  in 
his  strength  and  power.  He  was  holding  her 
cloak  for  her;  helping  to  rid  himself  of  her.  The 
old  half-dead,  but  vital  call  of  the  aboriginal  woman 
rose  in  her,  then  ebbed  away  at  birth  in  a  feeble 
flickering  jealousy, 

"I  do  not  wish  you  to  go  with  me."  Ruth  felt 
timidly  out  for  her  sweet  dignity;  the  perquisite 
and  recompense  of  exquisite  refinement.  "I  pre- 
fer going  alone." 

"It  is  quite  dark." 

"I  shall  not  be  afraid."  Dale  walked  with  her 
to  the  door.  Just  before  the  blackness  engulfed 
her,  she  turned  her  little,  flower-like  face  to  him: 

"  John  —  I  shall  always  be  ready  to  be  —  your  — 
friend  if  you  need  me." 

"I  shall  remember.     Good  night." 

An  hour  later  Dale  walked  into  the  Black  Cat 


382       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

Tavern  and  made  a  ruinous  bargain  with  Tate  for 
the  use  of  his  horse  and  sled  for  an  indefinite  time. 
"I'm  going  up  into  the  woods,"  he  explained,  "I 
may  be  gone  a  week,  a  month,  I  cannot  tell;  when 
I  reach  Camp  7,  I'll  send  your  rig  back." 

"Going  to  join  Filmer,  maybe?"  Tate's  little 
eyes  rolled  in  their  cushions  of  fat. 

"Perhaps."  And  Tate  took  this  as  affirmation. 
Now  that  Joyce  had  rejoined  her  rightful  lord  and 
master  —  for  the  story  had  leaked  out  —  it  was 
quite  natural  that  Gaston  should  take  to  the  woods. 

"  It's  one  on  'im,"  Tate  confided,  as  Brown  Betty 
and  the  sled  dashed  by. 

When  Dale  started  out  his  purpose  was  very 
vague.  If  he  reasoned  at  all  it  was  to  the  effect 
that  Jude,  after  Joyce  rejoined  him,  would  seek 
employment  as  near  at  hand  as  possible.  It  would 
be  like  his  weak  vanity  to  parade  his  victory  by 
going  to  the  men  who  had  known  of  his  defeat. 
Besides,  if  he  had  sent  for  Joyce,  he  must  have  been 
in  the  neighbourhood.  The  heavy  storm,  in  any 
case,  would  hinder  a  long  journey,  and  the  men  at 
Camp  7  might  perhaps  have  news  of  Lauzoon  either 
before  or  after  Joyce  had  met  him  a  day  or  so  ago. 

It  had  been  a  short  time.  He  and  Brown  Betty 
were  a  better  pair  than  Jude  and  a  heavy-hearted 
woman.  So  Dale  drove  on  toward  Camp  7. 

He  tried  to  keep  to  the  trail,  once  he  struck  the 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS   383 

forests,  but  the  snow  was  unbroken  —  the  heaviest 
fall  had  occurred  after  Billy's  return  —  and  Brown 
Betty  intelligently  slackened  her  speed  and  felt  her 
way  gingerly  through  the  darkness.  It  was  still 
as  death.  Above  the  trees  the  stars  pricked  the 
sky,  and  the  intense  cold  fell  like  a  tangible  thing 
upon  the  flesh  exposed  to  it.  Dale  pulled  his  fur 
cap  lower,  and  gladly  let  Betty  have  her  will. 

Now  when  Billy  had  left  Joyce  at  the  end  of  their 
flight,  it  was  near  the  door  of  the  woodman's  hut. 

"Billy,"  Joyce  had  said,  lingeringly  clinging  to 
him  as  the  last  familiar  thing  in  her  happy  span  of 
life;  "  Billy,  you  must  turn  back,  and  God  bless  you, 
dear.  You  see  Jude  must  not  know  anything  about 
you  —  and  it's  all  right  now,  Billy." 

Billy  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  ended  in  a  sob. 

"Never  mind,  Billy,  it's  all  right  now.  Just 
remember  that.  Kiss  me  Billy." 

And  Billy  kissed  her  like  the  true  gentleman  he 
was  on  the  way  to  being.  Then  Joyce,  with  her 
shabby  baggage,  and  basket  of  provisions  went  on 
alone. 

She  was  stiff  and  cold,  and  her  heart  was  like 
lead  within  her.  With  surprise  she  noticed  that  the 
door  of  the  hut  was  partly  open,  and  the  snow  had 
drifted  in.  It  was  dark  and  lifeless  apparently, 
and  for  a  moment  Joyce  thought  that  Jude  had  gone 
away,  and  she  turned  to  recall  Billy  before  it  was 


384       JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

too  late.  Then  she  boldly  entered  the  house.  The 
little  entry  was  covered  with  snow  and  the  room 
door,  too,  stood  as  the  outer  one  did,  ajar.  Joyce 
paused  and  listened  —  then  a  horrible  fear  took 
possession  of  her.  The  still  house  overpowered 
her  for  a  moment,  but  she  knew  that  death  awaited 
her  in  the  outer  cold  and  loneliness,  so  by  super- 
human determination  she  felt  her  way  toward  the 
fireplace  —  she  had  been  in  the  hut  more  than  once 
and  memory  served  her  now.  She  forced  herself 
to  think  only  of  lighting  the  fire.  Even  when  she 
struck  a  match  she  would  glance  nowhere  but  at 
the  hearth. 

Her  teeth  were  set  close,  and  her  breath  hardly 
stirred  her  bosom.  There  had  been  a  fire  recently  — 
but  the  ashes  were  cold.  There  was,  however, 
wood  nearby,  and  Joyce  tore  the  paper  from  one  of 
her  packages  and  used  it  to  ignite  the  smaller  wood. 

There  was  a  puff,  a  flare,  and  the  wood  caught. 

With  the  growing  heat  and  light  a  semblance  of 
courage  returned,  still  Joyce  kept  her  eyes  rigidly 
upon  her  task.  She  laid  on  more  wood,  and  yet 
more.  It  was  past  midnight  and  the  terrible  stillness 
was  numbing  her  reason.  Presently  she  cautiously 
turned  —  something  compelled  her.  She  did  not 
expect  to  find — anything,  but  she  had  to  look! 
Away  from  the  red  glare,  the  shadows  concealed 
their  secrets  from  the  fear-haunted  eyes,  but  only 
for  a  moment. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       385 

Jude  was  there!  He  was  lying  stretched  upon 
the  floor.  A  bottle  was  near  his  outspread  hand. 
He  was  asleep. 

Joyce  did  not  try  to  get  upon  her  feet,  but  she 
crept  toward  the  still  form.  She  touched,  with 
stiff  fingers,  the  hand  of  the  man  she  had  come  to 
meet  —  the  man  who  was  to  save  her  from  her  love. 

"Jude!"  she  whispered  hoarsely;  "Jude!" 

A  falling  log  started  the  others  to  a  redder  glow. 
The  face  of  the  man  upon  the  floor  lay  exposed. 
The  eyes  were  open  —  but  unseeing,  and  Joyce 
knew  that  Jude  was  frozen  to  death ! 

She  made  no  cry.  Had  she  been  capable  of  sen- 
sation she  would  have  gone  mad,  but  she  was 
conscious  of  no  emotion  whatever. 

The  room  grew  hotter  and  brighter.  She  drew 
away  from  that  horrible  shape  upon  the  floor.  She 
must  forget  it  or  her  head  would  burst.  In  the 
morning,  and  it  would  soon  be  morning,  she 
could  go  for  help  —  but  for  now  she  must  forget. 

Still  creeping,  she  regained  the  fireplace;  there 
she  huddled  with  her  back  to  —  that  long  black 
shadow.  Yes;  it  was  but  a  shadow.  She  would 
not  think  of  it  but  as  a  shadow. 

She  braced  against  the  chimney  corner,  and  set 
her  face  to  the  warm,  soothing  light.  Once  she 
stirred  and  threw  on  more  wood,  then  she  returned 
to  her  corner;  and  kept  her  eyes  in  one  direction. 

An  hour  passed.     The  slight  form  by  the  fire 


386        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

relaxed,  and  sank  gradually  to  an  easy  position  far 
enough  away  from  the  fire  to  be  safe.  The  pretty 
head  fell  upon  a  bundle  that  had  earlier  been  dropped 
carelessly  there  —  and  a  great  peace  rested  on  the 
worn  face.  Suffering,  hopelessness  and  fear  fled 
as  the  calm  gently  settled  from  brow  to  chin;  and 
all  that  was  conscious  of  Joyce  Lauzoon  drifted  into 
the  oblivion  that  has  never  been  fathomed. 

Behind  the  sealed  doors  —  the  miracle  was  per- 
formed. The  spirit  freed  from  its  suffering  body  - 
but  not  claimed  by  Death  —  was  strengthened  and 
purified.  Where  it  fared  — who  can  tell?  How 
near  the  Source  of  eternal  things  it  wandered  none 
may  know,  but  it  drank  deep  and  lost  its  earth- 
stain  long  enough  to  carry  back  with  it  a  faith  that 
would  enable  it  to  live. 

The  rosy  light  of  day  was  showing  ruddily  in  the 
window  of  the  hut  when  Joyce  opened  her  eyes. 
The  returning  spirit  came  slowly  back  with  stately 
serenity.  There  was  no  shock  nor  start  of  wonder; 
it  took  possession  of  the  refreshed  body  that  was 
awaiting  it,  and  accepted  its  responsibilities. 

Joyce  was  lying  on  her  back,  her  hands  crossed 
upon  her  bosom.  The  fire  still  glowed  at  heart, 
and  the  room  was  warm.  A  calmness  and  saneness 
reigned  supreme.  Joyce  wondered  what  had 
befallen  her  ?  Then  slowly,  like  a  wise  mother, 
Nature  gave  into  her  conscious  thought  the  know- 
ledge of  things  as  they  were. 


JOYCE  OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS       387 

She  turned — yes!  there  was  Jude.  But  she 
did  not  shrink  nor  shudder  now.  Young  as  she 
was,  she  had  seen  death  many,  many  times.  She 
had  gone  to  the  portals,  alone,  with  others  beside 
her  poor  baby.  She  rose  now,  and  walked  over  to 
Jude's  side.  The  night  had  wrought  a  change  in 
him,  seemingly;  or  perhaps  it  was  Joyce's  regained 
sanity.  The  man  on  the  floor  looked  calm,  peaceful 
and  strangely  dignified.  His  helpless  peacefulness 
appealed  to  Joyce.  She  began  to  take  away  all 
signs  of  degradation  that  remained.  The  inanimate 
tokens  of  poor  Jude  Lauzoon's  weakness  and 
undoing. 

The  empty  bottle  was  hidden  from  sight;  the 
disordered  clothing  was  straightened,  and  the  hands 
that  were  never  to  work  harm  again,  were  folded 
over  the  quiet  breast. 

God  had  set  Joyce  free!  and  as  she  did  the  last, 
sad  service  for  the  man  who  had  no  real  place  in 
her  life,  the  words  of  Ruth  Dale  recurred  to  her. 

No;  she  had  never  been  free  before.  She  never 
could  have  been  free  while  Jude  and  she  walked 
the  same  earth.  There  had  been  an  intangible 
link  that  only  death  could  sever. 

Her  freedom  had  come  too  late  —  but  no!  Sitting 
beside  Jude's  body,  Joyce  felt  the  convincing  truth 
that,  come  what  might,  she  could,  she  would  live 
as  John  Dale  had  shown  her  how. 

Softly,  with   reverent  touch,  Joyce  covered  the 


388        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

grim,  white  face,  and  turned  away  to  prepare  for 
her  home  journey.  She  must  get  others  to  come 
for  Jude's  body.  Her  part  was  all  past  now  forever. 
She  must  go  to  face  her  new  life,  whatever  it  might  be. 

As  she  opened  the  outer  door,  the  clear,  stinging 
cold  brought  a  sense  of  freshness  and  sweetness  with 
it.  It  was  so  alive,  and  it  called  to  all  that  was 
awakening  in  her.  Her  slow  blood  tingled  and 
her  breath  came  quick  and  deep. 

For  very  relief  she  took  off  her  close  hood,  and 
flung  her  arms  wide  as  if  in  welcome  to  what  awaited 
her. 

The  unbroken  snow  spread  on  every  side.  Like 
the  first-comer  in  this  new,  pure  world  she  set  forth 
with  a  high  courage  and  a  strange  faith. 

So  she  came  upon  John  Dale's  vision,  and  he 
started  back,  fearing  that  his  weariness  and  heavy 
heart  were  playing  havoc  with  his  senses.  Having 
seen  smoke  rising  from  the  chimney  of  the  hut, 
he  had  left  his  horse  and  sled  a  short  distance  away, 
and  had  come  to  investigate. 

So  absorbed  was  Joyce  that  she  neither  saw  nor 
heard  the  approach  of  the  man  she  had  put  from  hei 
life. 

Her  pale  beauty,  as  she  came  quickly  toward 
him,  struck  Dale  as  almost  unearthly.  She  was 
within  a  few  yards  of  him  when  she  saw  him.  A 
rich  colour  flushed  her  face  as  she  recognized  him 
and  her  eyes  widened. 


jOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS        389 

"  Jude  —  is  dead ! "  she  said  simply.  She  thought 
he  was  still  upon  his  quest;  still  ignorant  of  the 
happenings  that  had  driven  her  away  from  the 
jhack. 

The  words  had  the  effect  of  paralyzing  Dale. 
Had  this  woman  taken  a  life  in  self-preservation  ? 
Then  the  sweet,  innocent  calm  of  her  face  reassured 
him.  Jude  was  dead!  Every  barrier  was  removed 
—  every  obstacle  overcome. 

Dale  rushed  toward  her  with  outstretched  arms. 
The  look  on  his  face  awed  Joyce  —  but  before  she 
was  swept  into  a  bliss  that  might  not  be  rightfully 
hers,  she  shrank  from  him.  She  put  her  hands  out 
pleadingly  as  if  imploring  him  to  withhold  what 
her  soul  was  hungering  for.  Dale  understood. 

"  Joyce  —  I  have  been  home.  They  have  told 
me  — all!" 

"All?"     Joyce   panted   the  one  word.     "All?" 

"Yes.     Everything.     Now  —  will  you  come?" 

To  his  dying  day  Dale  was  never  to  forget  the 
look  she  cast  upon  him  as  he  and  she  stood  alone 
in  the  white  trackless  forest. 

Love,  such  love  as  worn-out  civilization  knows 
not,  took  possession  of  Joyce  Lauzoon.  A  love 
that  controlled  and  uplifted. 

Dale  waited  —  then  she  came  to  him,  glorious  and 
strong  in  her  power  of  joy-giving.  She  clasped  her 
hands  around  his  neck,  and  lifted  her  face  to  his; 
their  lips  met  and  their  eyes  grew  wondrously  tender. 


390        JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS 

"And  now,"  —  it  was  Joyce  who  recalled  him  to 
duty  —  "where  shall  we  go  ?" 

His  promise  to  Drew  followed  close  on  the  ques- 
tion; and  Ruth  Dale's  farewell  to  him  as  she  slipped 
from  his  life  came  with  a  new  meaning. 

"Sweet,"  he  whispered,  "they  are  waiting  for  us 
—  Drew,  and  my  sister,  Ruth  Dale." 


TRS 


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